Gospel of the Chosen
by BrittWitt16
Summary: Kat was a simple woman. She worked her job, she kept to herself, she killed the occasional vampire. But the Apocalypse is not something you can wait out from the safety of your apartment. Not when you've been Chosen. / Updates Tuesdays.
1. Chapter 1

It was shaping up to be a weird ass day.

First off, it was way too hot to be September. Illinois rarely got hotter than eighty degrees, especially in the fall, but the way the sun was shining down made it feel well over a hundred.

Then there was this dumpy roadside gas and go. The owners clearly had their priorities way out of whack. Newspapers were up to date, but the food on the shelf hadn't been checked for weeks—just a fridge of lukewarm water bottles, and a few shelves of expired granola bars. The stacks of skin mags were glossy and new, but the place didn't have a single road map. What self-respecting pit stop didn't have a damn road map?

And then, as luck would have it, there wasn't a car in sight. Not on the road, not in the parking lot, not even a half-rusted junk out back he could have fixed up before jumping. No, of course there wasn't. That was probably snatched up by the last sorry bastard who'd gotten his ass dragged out of Hell.

Dean wiped a hand over his forehead—not that it did him much good. His hands were just as sweaty as the rest of him, and every single muscle in his body ached. It felt like he'd been walking for miles and miles, but he wasn't dumb enough to believe it. All it took was one look at the sky to figure that he'd barely made it one.

Well, he thought bitterly. Sitting in a grave for four months probably didn't do much for his endurance.

The roaring sound of an engine made his head pop up. A bright blue car was speeding toward him, racing down the opposite side of the road. Dean paused mid-step, changing his gait so that he was strolling backward down the shoulder, his left hand out with a thumb.

The engine surged, and the car sped right past him.

In the brief glance he'd gotten through the window, he'd caught the woman looking the opposite direction. But if her sudden burst of speed was anything to go by, she'd definitely seen him. It was all about pretending she _hadn't_ seen him—just an honest mistake so she didn't have to stop and ask if he was alright. Then she didn't have to feel guilty.

Dean didn't blame her. The dangerous stupidity of picking up hitchhikers these days really outweighed the benefit of helping strangers. And he was willing to bet he didn't look like the most welcoming damsel on the side of the road. He'd just climbed out of his own grave, after all, and he was covered head to toe in dirt and sweat. His hands were bloody from clawing his way through the soil, and he had more than a few scratches from the shattered glass at the gas station. Good looking as he may be, he wasn't the ideal pick up.

He didn't even make it another mile. Exhausted, bruised, and furious with himself, Dean trudged to a stop and sat on the side of the highway. He pushed himself into a slim patch of shade, and rummaged through the shopping bag he'd pilfered from the rest stop. His supplies were dwindling—four protein bars, one pack of mini donuts, one magazine, and he was already down to his last water bottle.

He knew he should save it, but even after downing the other three, his throat still felt raw and sandy. He thought of all the dirt that must have collected there while he was lying in his pine box. Then, he thought of all the times his throat had been flayed and sliced and twisted and burned before he'd woken up…

The thought was gone in an instant, and he cracked open the water bottle. Screw it. He'd figure out a way to avoid dehydration later.

His eyes lingered on the latest issue of _Busty Asian Beauties._ But he decided against it. Not like he had any energy to spare beating his meat on the side of the road. Not when he still had a few miles' walk ahead of him.

Frustration nipped at his knuckles again, and Dean gripped the water bottle a little tighter. He'd called Sam, but the number had been disconnected. That wasn't exactly a surprise. He and Sam always cycled through burner phones on the job. Best way to avoid the bills was to ditch the name and number. Then he'd called Bobby, and the old man hadn't even let him get a word in edgewise.

But that was all part of the job. If it had been Bobby calling him after four months downstairs, Dean probably wouldn't answer the phone either. Especially when he didn't have a decent explanation for how he'd gotten out. And Dean didn't have a clue what he was doing alive and breathing in Pontiac, Illinois.

That was exactly why he needed to haul ass to Bobby's. Nothing he'd ever heard of had the power to bust a soul out of hell. Wriggling out of a deal, sure. He and Sam had helped a few poor bastards weasel their way out of a bargain, but once the Hellhounds got you, there was no coming back. There was no waking up a few months later without a scratch on you. Even a demon couldn't do that. Not unless someone let them out.

Now there was a nasty thought. If one of the big wig demons had let him escape, then there had to be something in it for them, something _big._ And he damn well wanted to know what it was before it was too late.

So—no car, no map, no phone, and a few hours' worth of walking between him and his next water bottle. No problem.

Dean crushed the empty bottle in his hand, tossing it back into the bag. It couldn't be that far to the edge of town. He was still in Pontiac as far as he could tell. It was just a matter of getting to the part of Pontiac that actually had people, or at least a car he could hot wire.

Five minutes later, he was back to hiking. He kept his ears sharp, waiting for another car to drive by. This time, he wasn't going to take no for an answer. Hell, he'd jump in front of the damn car if that's what it took to get a ride.

Whether or not he would have survived a minor collision, hitchhiking just didn't seem to be in the cards for him. The road was quiet. He tried not to let it get to him, because the more he thought about it, the more he worried. Pontiac wasn't exactly a backroads town. If there weren't any cars on the road, just how far from the city was he?

And then he stopped.

Up ahead, there was a car parked on the shoulder—black, dusty, and almost certainly empty. There wasn't anyone around for a few miles. Someone had probably broken down on the drive and called for a ride. Of course, it could have been something a lot worse, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. There was a car, and that meant he didn't have to walk.

Dean approached carefully, waiting for some homeless dude to come out swinging and scratching—but the car was definitely abandoned. The backseat had a few slashes in the upholstery, and the body wasn't in mint condition, but it could still run for sure. He only needed it to carry him a few miles before he upgraded.

Laughing at his luck, he threw his shopping bag in the passenger seat. He wiped his hands on the shirt around his waist, and popped the hood so he could get to work. And then his smile dropped like a rock.

There was no fucking engine.

"Friggen scavengers," he grumbled, along with a few choice curse words. He kicked the fender for good measure.

Another car sped down the road, flying past him before he could even lift his head. Dean groaned and wiped a hand down his face again. Time to call it. He had officially used up all of his luck.

Just as he was starting to think about how desperately he didn't want to go back to walking—he'd take a nap in the wreck if he weren't so anxious to talk to Bobby—the silver car slowed down. It rolled along the side of the road, and after an agonizing moment of hesitation, pulled a U-turn and headed back toward him. It coasted to a stop, still a couple hundred feet away, and then the door swung open.

Dean smirked. He'd take it all back. He was one lucky son of a bitch.

She was blonde, trim, about half a foot shorter than he was. Most of her body stayed behind the car door, one foot still inside the vehicle. She looked ready to bolt the second he made the wrong move. Still, she'd stopped.

"Car trouble?" she called.

"Uh, yeah," said Dean, giving the wreck a disparaging look. "You could say that. Don't suppose you're a mechanic?"

"Nope. Sorry."

"Eh, it was worth asking."

He quickly closed the hood again. You didn't have to be a mechanic to notice when the engine was missing from a car. It left a pretty big gap to the untrained eye.

Dean walked around to the side of the car, and the woman tensed ever so slightly. He could see her hand white-knuckling the door. Not wanting to spook her, he stopped and took a casual step back. He smiled and leaned back on the hood to show he had no plans on approaching her.

He wasn't entirely sure that it had worked. She kept her face passive as her eyes slid over him. She could have been checking him out or sizing him up as a threat and he wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

"Should I call you a tow truck?"

"Nah, I'm fine," he said with a shrug. Lying was still natural for him, even if he was a bit out of practice. "I called my brother a few times, so I'm just waiting for him to call me back."

The blonde nodded, her eyes still narrow. Her right arm dropped to the inside of her door. If Dean hadn't been trained to look for it, he probably wouldn't have noticed. But he was sure she'd just picked something up.

"What happened to you?" she asked abruptly.

"Sorry?"

"I mean the dirt, the cuts." Her free hand gestured to his torso. "What happened?"

"Oh I, uh…fell…"

Even Dean winced at that. There was no way he'd get off with a lie that bad.

The woman raised an eyebrow, and her arm tensed behind the door. "You _fell?"_

"Hey, don't laugh," he said, trying to sound defensive. The chick was clearly not laughing, but he knew he had to backpedal somehow. "I was trying to walk into town, and I tripped over my own feet. Went rolling down the shoulder into the bushes, so…I figured I'd be better off waiting with the car. It's—It's not exactly the most _badass_ way to get a few bruises, but I'm not exactly in the best shape of my life here."

He watched her closely this time, looking up from under his lashes. That usually earned him a few bonus points with girls—the whole bashful, nervous thing. He wasn't exactly betting on it this time, but the girl seemed to think about it at the very least. After a few seconds, she offered him a tight smile. Her arm did not relax.

"Well, heat exhaustion can be a real bitch."

"You're telling me," he chuckled. Dean sent her his best charming smile, and shrugged again. "But I think I'll stick with the car this time. Sammy will get one of my voicemails eventually."

"Sammy's your brother?"

"Yeah, yeah. He's probably holed up with a book somewhere with his phone on silent. But he's gotta come get me one of these days, right?"

"So you're just gonna wait on the side of the highway in a broken down car until your brother happens to check his messages?" She indulgently tried to restrain a snort. "That's…either really sweet or really, really dumb."

"Probably both," he agreed. It looked like she was smiling for real now, so he decided to test the waters. "I'm Dean, by the way."

Her eyes quickly flicked around her surroundings. Apparently seeing no polite way out of the conversation, she sighed. "Katherine."

"Katherine," he repeated, nodding to himself. "Cute name."

"It's fine."

His window was closing, and he knew it. He'd lied his ass off about being fine in hopes that she'd offer him a lift anyway, but she was probably too cautious for that to work. Asking for a lift would show his cards, and she was definitely too cautious for that to work. Any second now, she'd climb back in her car and drive off without him, and he'd have another few hours to contemplate how shitty he'd gotten at being persuasive.

Throwing caution to the wind, Dean cleared his throat.

"Look, Katherine, I'm gonna be honest with you. I don't really want to stay here with my car. It's hot, I'm starving, and uh…all I've got out here is a package of mini donuts. Now, you seem like a smart girl. You don't know me. I'm just some rough looking dude on the side of the highway. So if you want to keep driving, I won't blame you. But I'd really appreciate a lift to the next town. I—I'll keep my hands in view the whole time, best behavior. And if I'm not then you can go ahead and use that pepper spray you're hiding behind your door."

It was a gamble—a huge one. How was he supposed to recognize that she was feeling vulnerable without pointing out that she really was vulnerable? But he figured the worst she could do was spray him or leave him on the side of the highway. Or she could always hit him with her car.

Well, he'd already decided he was desperate enough to risk a car accident.

Katherine stared at him, her whole body poised to strike. But she didn't move to attack. Instead, she pursed her lips, and tersely replied, "It's actually a billy club."

Dean raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Old school. Nice."

"Well, I guess the element of surprise is out," she sighed, tossing the club onto the driver's seat. "Thanks a lot, Dean."

"Hey, don't feel bad. I'm a hard guy to surprise."

He could barely believe it, but the next time she looked over at him, she almost looked like she was blushing. She was biting her bottom lip, but the smile there still shone through. Running a hand through her hair, she glanced around at the empty road one more time before she relented.

"Where did you say you were headed?"

"Just to the next town. Anywhere with a diner."

"No, I mean…where are you _really_ headed? Long term?"

She was smirking now, and though he took a few casual steps forward, the expression never faltered. Dean licked his chapped lips, and offered her a lopsided grin.

"Sioux Falls, South Dakota. On your way?"

"I could make a pit stop."

"Well alright then."

Dean walked the rest of the way to her car, trying to keep his pace calm but not wanting to give her time to change her mind. Katherine cleared her throat.

"Uh, don't you wanna get your stuff?"

"Hm?"

He glanced back at the empty car, thinking of the shopping bag in the passenger seat. Somehow, he didn't think _Busty Asian Beauties_ was going to help him win Katherine's trust. So he just waved a hand and shook his head.

"Oh, nah. Like I said. All I've got in there is some donuts."

"Right." She smiled again, walking around to the front of her car to meet him. Her eyes gave him another once over, looser this time than it had been before. She seemed amused, but still a little hesitant, as she offered him a hand. "I'm not gonna regret this, am I?"

"God, I hope not."

Dean couldn't help it. His tongue snuck out over his lips, and he eyed her short frame with rapidly climbing interest. It had been months since he'd gotten laid, and it felt like it had been decades. But judging by the way Katherine was blushing under those beachy blonde waves, he wouldn't have to wait much longer.

 _Yup_ , he thought to himself. _Still got it._

Katherine's hand tightened around his, and tugged his body closer to hers. Then, before he could even blink, her left fist smashed into his windpipe. His face slammed into the hood of the car, and he fell like a rock—his head cracking none-too-gently on the asphalt below.

Dean's body crumpled to the pavement, and Kat gaped down at him, hands flying to cover her mouth. She had _not_ meant to do that. Alright, well she _had_ meant to punch him, but she had no idea that he was gonna go down that easy. What kind of dude got knocked out after one bump on the head?

"Shit," she grumbled, resting a hand on her hip.

She hadn't really thought this through. She didn't even know where he was going really, besides a town name a few states away. And the drive was going to take hours. She doubted he'd stay unconscious for all of it, and now that she'd kind of attacked him, he was more than likely to retaliate. So what was she supposed to do? Let him take a nap in the back seat of her Prius and hope that he didn't remember what happened when he woke up? Right. Cause he was real likely to let her explain herself when he woke up bleeding in the back of a stranger's car.

There was really only one thing to do.

Kat sighed, popping her trunk and grabbing a roll of duct tape. She wasn't spectacular at restraining people, but she figured if she just kept layering the tape on then it would do the job. It would at least buy her some time if he woke up and tried to fight back. She rolled it up and down his forearms, and then up and down his shins. She thought about taping his mouth closed, but he did seem to be in pretty rough shape. A gag wasn't a lot kinder, but at least it would allow him some air to breathe…she hoped…

Once he was all taped up, she began dragging him around to the back of the car. He was a heavy guy, packed with bone and muscle, but she managed to get him into the trunk without too much of a problem. Laying on his side with his knees tucked up, he fit just about perfectly.

Kat stood back to admire her handiwork, and passed the back of her hand over her forehead. She had a sneaking suspicion that this was going to blow up in her face. But there was no going back now. Besides, an unconscious Dean Winchester was better than no Dean Winchester at all.

She threw a quilt over his body and closed the trunk, climbing back into the front seat and trying to act as though nothing had happened. It still took a few seconds to collect herself. She was in her Prius, with a body in the trunk, and now she was going to drive to South Dakota. No problem.

The glove compartment popped open, and she shuffled through a few CDs before plucking out some Alanis Morissette. As the first notes of "All I Really Want" began to play, Kat allowed herself a smile. Humming along, she turned to her GPS, typing out her brand new direction.

 _S-I-O-U-X F-A-L-L-S, S-O-U-T-H D-A-K-O-T-A_

The journey was surprisingly normal, all things considered. The only change was her direction, and two text messages she sent from her phone. The first was a brief message to her mother explaining that she was taking a short detour on her way home to California. "Short" wasn't an accurate word for an impromptu trip to South Dakota, but she didn't want anyone to worry. She promised to call at the next rest stop to check in, and then clicked on another name— _Marcus._

 _"Done. Thanks for the heads up. I'll call you with the details later."_

She tossed her phone into the passenger seat, knowing there wouldn't be a reply, and then turned her attention back to the road.

There was always that small fragment of panic in the back of her mind. What the hell was she going to do when this guy woke up? Every few minutes Kat would turn down the music, checking to make sure he wasn't trying to make a quiet escape. She took back roads and pulled over from time to time, just to make sure she wasn't surrounded by too many cars. She drove safely as she could, keeping up with traffic but not daring to speed too much. The last thing she needed right now was a cop to pull her over.

More than anything, Kat wanted to keep driving until she hit South Dakota. But five hours down route 80, her stomach was starting to growl, and her head was beginning to ache. She'd already skipped the last few meals because she'd been working. She'd have to stop for food at some point if she wanted to make it to Sioux Falls without passing out behind the wheel.

That was going to be a challenge. She didn't want to leave the car unattended in a parking lot, but at the same time, she couldn't risk going through a drive thru. It would be all too easy for Dean to break one of her taillights to catch another car's attention, or even just to bang on the trunk until someone heard him. Then the cops would be down on her ass and she'd have two huge problems to deal with.

Kat pulled over just outside of Des Moines, trying to find a wide enough path between the trees where she could park her car. Timing was tough too—she couldn't exactly let someone see her driving off the road and into the woods in a silver Prius. But after about ten minutes of slowing down, pulling over, and waiting for a gap in traffic, she managed to drive through a patch of forest into the trees.

Grabbing her backpack, she stepped out of the car, only to stop and stare warily at her trunk. She really didn't want to leave him here. He might already be awake, lying in wait. She knew she should check before she walked off, but she wasn't fully prepared to do that with the slight headache she was nursing. If he was awake, he'd be swinging and flailing the moment she opened the trunk. And if he wasn't, her opening the trunk to check on him might wake him up anyway, and then she'd have to knock him out again. It would probably be harder this time, no matter how weak he was. Dean wasn't going to let her get the jump on him again.

Her stomach growled, making Kat sigh and turn on her heel. Screw this. She'd decide what to do after she'd eaten.

It wasn't far to the last gas station she'd passed, just a little under two miles. She picked up a few small things she could carry in her bag—water bottles, some Gatorade, chips and a bag of cookies. Those were for the road, and the severely hydrated guy in her trunk. But it wasn't enough for a decent lunch.

She hopped across the street, where there was a small barbecue joint that looked pretty decent. Her take out order came faster than she could have expected, but to Kat it felt like hours. Her stomach felt about ready to start digesting itself, and her eyes stayed glued on her watch. Nearly an hour since she'd left, and it would still take her about half an hour to get back…

The second the food came out, she was out the door. Clouds were rolling in, the temperature dropping in the shade, which made it easier to move quickly. She kept to the shadows along the edge of the highway, doing her best to stay out of sight of the road. She weaved through tall grass, ducked between trees, and then finally, she'd made it back to the Prius.

"I hope you like barbecue," she said conversationally to herself as she walked. "Kinda had to guess, hope you don't mind. You seem like a heavy meat guy, so I got you some sandwich called the Man Handler. Sounded like it'd be right…up your…alley…"

Kat stopped in the middle of the clearing. Her shoulders sagged, and her eyes fluttered closed.

"Great. Just perfect."

The trunk was already open.

She'd been expecting it, but she still wasn't prepared. He didn't even give her a chance to put her bags down.

Before Kat could even open her eyes, there was an arm around her throat. She dropped her bags, trying to kick her legs out in front of her, behind her, anywhere they might meet something solid. But Dean knew what he was doing. He dragged her off her feet, not letting her find her footing, and maintaining pressure on her neck the whole time.

"Yeah, payback's a bitch, ain't it, Tinkerbell?"

And the next moment, she passed out.

Dean was tempted— _oh_ so tempted—to let her collapse onto the forest floor. Maybe she'd landon a rock so she could split her head open like he had. Fair was fair, right?

But he didn't. As soon as Katherine's body gave out, he scooped her up and carried her back to the car. He dropped her roughly into her own trunk, and was smart enough to frisk her before he tried restraining her. But Katherine wasn't packing—no guns, no knives, not even a lockpick or a box cutter. He allowed himself a satisfied smirk as he wound the duct tape around her arms. He'd have to thank Sammy once he found him. Burying him with a switchblade in his pocket hadn't been such a dumbass idea after all.

Satisfied that the chick wouldn't be waking up any time soon, he closed the trunk and went to inspect the bags. He didn't know what he was expecting—baby bones, jars of blood, something a little bit more nefarious than a bag of spicy chili Doritos. He helped himself to a bottle of Gatorade, and then peeked inside the containers of barbecue. He didn't have any plans on eating it, of course. He wasn't dumb enough to eat food offered by the bad guys. But that sandwich did look damn good, and he hadn't eaten anything decent in decades…

Dean forced himself to snap out of it. There would be time for food later. His top priorities now were getting to Bobby, finding Sam, and figuring out just what in the hell had pulled him out of Hell. And now, he had a car that would get him there.

He jumped in the driver's seat and immediately scrunched up his nose. It took him a few seconds to find the seat adjustments and figure out how to move the seat back enough that steering wheel wasn't riding his junk. He started the car, and immediately groaned again. Some whiny chick rocker was wailing over the speakers, backed by an unnecessary amount of harmonica.

"Yeah, no," he said firmly, turning the CD off. "Well one thing's for sure. Your taste in music is about as bad as your taste in cars. I can't believe I'm about to drive a goddamn Prius."

Dean threw a nasty look at the dashboard. There were far too many buttons for his liking, and a shiny screen where his classic radio needle should be. He almost didn't dare touch it, but the temptation outweighed his prejudice.

Five minutes later, he'd figured out the radio, and managed to find a classic rock station on the air. Metallica greeted him with low, angry voices and heavy guitar, and even though his head was still killing him, Dean let out a loud laugh.

"Now we're talking, sweetheart."

Humming along, it was still another ten minutes before he figured out how to work the GPS. He preferred paper to the stupid screen. He could barely get the thing to cooperate, let along figure out what the hell it was trying to show him. He just needed to know what fucking direction to drive to get to Bobby's.

He clicked on a button that said _destination_ , and then paused. The tiny red line followed the rest of I-80, where they were currently parked, then veered north, up, up, up I-29 and into South Dakota. A checkered flag waved at the end, right over the words _Sioux Falls._

Dean sat back in his seat. What the fuck was going on here? His soul was damned to hell, and four months later, he pops up topside in the middle of a levelled forest. He tries to hitchhike a ride off a hot blonde, only for her to knock him out, buy him lunch, and then actually drive him where he wanted to go.

He reached over to the passenger seat, hands diving into the bags and pulling out the warm barbecue sandwich that was calling his name. He was so done with thinking today. The world was all kinds of fuck ass backwards, and he was gonna eat a damn sandwich. He literally moaned at the taste—it was _really_ fucking good. Granted, it could have been a month old and molding and it still would have been the most delicious thing he'd tasted in his life. But the soft bread and barbecue sauce did the trick.

Less tired and more determined than ever, Dean threw the car into drive and peeled out onto the interstate, radio pumping and sandwich in hand. He had work to do.

* * *

 **A/N:** Contrary to popular belief, I am not dead. Just working in the shadows. I'm going to try and avoid author's notes where I can, but I wanted to clear up a few housekeeping things first.

 _Gospel of the Chosen_ will update every **Tuesday** for as long as I can manage. I can't promise a specific time, but we should be alright for a few months at the very least. I'm also going to leave this story with a **Mature rating** for various reasons - language, violence, and extreme depictions of gore for a start. Most of this will be at the general _Supernatural_ level, but if there is anything particularly gruesome, I will include a **trigger warning** at the start of the chapter. I will also do so for other sensitive themes this story deals with, such as mentions of sexual assault, physical abuse and any sexual content. Please let me know if there's anything else that you'd like tagged.

I'm both nervous and excited to be back. Thank you for reading, and I will see you all next week.

-Brittney


	2. Chapter 2

Panic is one of the worst emotions to feel. Especially because it's one of the hardest to control. You can condition yourself not to panic, learn to stay calm under stress and duress. But once that panic sinks in, once you feel it…it's there. And it's a lot harder to shake off.

Panic is exactly what Kat felt when she finally heaved herself back to consciousness—only to feel the bite of handcuffs around her wrists.

Her eyes snapped open, and immediately began their scan of her surroundings.

Inside. Old house. Books. Couch. Empty bottles. Messy. Living room.

No, go back. There were _lots_ of books. Old books, ancient books, battered. Some of them were stacked in piles around the room, some laid open on tables. There were dog eared pages, broken spines, and a few that looked to be using knives as book marks. There were quite a few knives in the room. And there were quite a few guns.

Kat looked down at her restraints—two sets of shiny handcuffs binding her to her chair. A twitch of her ankle confirmed that her feet weren't bound, but it didn't give her much hope. It appeared her chair had been bolted to the floor.

"You're up."

She would have jumped if she had the room. Kat jerked in her chair, clutching at the arms and getting ready to brace herself. She could still kick if she had to.

But no one was moving to attack her. The hall in front of her let out into a small kitchen and makeshift dining room. There was a small table on the wall, where an older man was sitting back in his seat. He watched her steadily, one hand wrapped around a bottle of beer while the other tugged at his fraying trucker cap.

Kat held his gaze. She wanted to appear relaxed, to sink back in her chair and pretend that she wasn't scared. But she was scared. Her jaw was clenched tight and she was gripping the chair beneath her while she tried to remember how to breathe. If there was one thing she hated, it was not being in control.

"Just do me a favor," the man continued gruffly, "and don't fidget too much. Last thing I need is a damn interrogation scuffing up my floors."

He heaved himself out of his seat, walking through the kitchen and into the hall. She heard the banging of a screen door somewhere out of sight.

Kat used the time to twist in her seat, scouting out the exits. From what she could see, there was only the screen door and a wall of windows over the couch on her left. She could also spot the bottom of a staircase to her right, which might at least offer some additional places to hide if she needed to buy time.

Not that any of that was useful. Not when she was cuffed to a goddamn chair.

The man returned a minute later, and this time, he wasn't alone.

Dean was looking a lot better than he had when Kat found him. He'd washed up, for one—no longer covered in dirt and sweat—and somehow he'd gotten himself a change of clothes. His face was still a bit knocked up from their roadside fight, but it didn't seem to be bothering him. She could see in his stride that he was confident, back on his game. Wherever she'd ended up, she was on his turf now.

"Not looking too hot anymore, are ya, Katherine?" he asked. Dean hopped up on top of one of the tables, flashing her a cocky grin. "Thank you for the lunch, by the way. Hope you don't mind, but uh…I gave Bobby your sandwich. He loves a good turkey club."

The older man nodded, following Dean into the living room and propping himself against a wall. "Damn good honey mustard too."

"Dude, I love honey mustard."

"It was a nice touch."

They riffed casually with each other, making themselves at home in the messy room. Dean looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to take the bait. Kat didn't respond.

Moving for a different approach, he stood again, pacing over to her chair. He stood tall over her, trying to look as imposing as possible, and crossing his arms over his broad chest. As much as Kat wanted to remain calm, she grit her teeth against her will.

"So, you always this nice to people on the highway, or am I just that lucky?"

"Look…" Kat sighed, and cleared her throat when only half the sound came out. "It was a mistake."

"Yeah, you're damn right it was a mistake."

"No. I mean, it was an _accident_."

"An accident?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow. "You _accidentally_ decided to chokeslam me into your Prius?"

"I didn't…"

"And then you _accidentally_ decided to tie me up and throw me in the trunk? No. No, you see an accident is something you didn't do on purpose. Like—Like shrinking your clothes in the wash, or burning your TV dinner. You cannot _accidentally_ kidnap someone!"

"Hey, Dean." The older man cleared his throat. He gestured to Kat with a pointed look. "Can we stay focused here?"

Dean scowled at him, but reluctantly took a few steps back from her chair. He heaved a sigh that wreaked of petulant resignation, and then turned back to Kat with a glare. "First thing I wanna know is what the hell are you?"

Kat paused, baffled.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean that Bobby and I basically ran the gamut while you were out—silver, salt, bronze, holy water. No reaction to any of it."

He stepped up to her chair again, leaning down this time so that he was eye level with her.

"So what is it?" he asked lowly, green eyes flicking over her face. "You a witch? You're definitely bitchy enough for that. Maybe a hobbit? Fairy princess?"

Dean reached forward, tugging on a lock of her blonde hair and making Kat press herself back into her chair. If there weren't so many weapons in the room, she would have bitten his hand. As it was, there were at least three knives and two guns within his reach. And she had already supremely pissed him off.

She twisted her head out of Dean's reach and glowered up at him for all she was worth.

"Look, I don't know what kind of shit you're smoking, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Cut the crap, girlie," said Bobby from the corner. "We popped your trunk."

Kat's glare dropped in a nanosecond, and Dean beamed in victory.

"I was actually inside of your trunk," he added, standing up once more. "It's not much, but it's definitely a start. Handgun, shotgun, rock salt, fake IDs. Your basic starter kit. So if you're human, what I want to know is…why is a hunter hunting other hunters?"

Kat fidgeted in her seat, not ready to meet his eyes. She didn't want to answer, but the handcuffs were tight on her wrists—a reminder that she wasn't going anywhere until the two men were satisfied that she wasn't a threat.

"I wasn't hunting you."

"Right."

"Hey, believe it or don't. That's the truth."

"Yeah, and you've been so goddamn truthful so far," scoffed Dean. "And I'm just supposed to believe you? What that—that you found me on accident? That you just happened to be passing by and that you weren't tracking me from the moment I popped out of the ground?"

She paused, honestly confused this time.

"What does that…?"

"And who the hell is Marcus?" he demanded, not letting her finish.

"Excuse me? I don't…"

But Bobby was clearing his throat again. He lifted a hand, and Kat's stomach slipped even lower in her torso. He was holding her cell phone.

"Done," he read aloud to the room. "Thanks for the heads up. I'll call with the details later."

"I'm sorry—you went through my _phone_?"

"Really?" Dean asked. "That's your counter here?"

Kat pursed her lips. Her fear was rapidly transforming into pure irritation.

"Alright, fine. Yes, I'm a hunter. But I'm pretty new to all this. Marcus helps me out, lets me tag along on his cases, sends me solo when he thinks I can handle it. Last week he gave me a heads up about a family of ghouls in Ohio, so I took care of it. I was on my way back when I ran into you. Hence…all of this."

Dean narrowed his eyes as she waved a cuffed hand around the room.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I panicked, alright?" she said, rolling her eyes. "I had a close call in Ohio, and then you came walking along looking like you'd done a bit of grave robbing yourself. You got too close, so I jumped the gun. Honestly, I was expecting more of a fight. I didn't know you were gonna drop like a house of cards."

He scowled at her, but there was a snort from the corner. Both of them turned to look at Bobby, who was quickly composing his face. Dean brandished a finger at him, then rounded back on Kat.

"You know what? Screw you, Blondie. I'm not buying it. You're so green that you tackle a guy for no reason, but you know enough to take a fully trained hunter down? How the hell does that work?"

"I've been fighting longer than I've been hunting."

"Why?"

"None of your business."

"Oh, well, I'm the one with the keys to the cuffs, darlin'. So I'd say that it is my business."

There was another standoff, each of them glaring at the other and waiting for their will to win out. But they both knew what the outcome would be. Kat was the newbie, trapped and restrained to the chair. And Dean was her only way out.

Kat was the first to drop her gaze.

"Look, I'm sorry," she said slowly, her eyes fixed on Dean's torso. "I didn't mean to knock you out, and I knew you weren't going to let me explain when you woke up. Which would have been justified," she added, before he could interrupt her, "but running into you on the highway was seriously chance. I know you don't believe that for whatever reason but… Come on, if I really had some master plan to kill you or sell you out or whatever, why would I waste eight hours of my life driving you exactly where you wanted to go?"

That, it seemed, was the million-dollar question. Kat chanced a glance up, only to find Dean staring down at her wordlessly. Judging by his expression of frustration, it was the one detail he hadn't managed to work into his case against her.

Before either of them could add anything else, the sound of a bell broke through the room. Dean's head snapped up, as did Bobby's, who quickly made his way to the computer that was open in the corner of the room. His eyes flicked over the screen before he turned back to Dean.

"He's on the move."

Kat had no idea what that meant, but it must have made sense to Dean. He looked even more conflicted than he had before, his hands curled up into fists at his side. He and Bobby stared at each other, having a silent conversation that Kat couldn't make heads or tails of. There were a lot of scrunched eyebrows and heads tilted in her direction.

Whatever their argument was, Bobby must have won, because Dean threw his hands up in the air.

"You know what? Fine. I really don't have time for this." He looked back to Kat, offering her a sour smile. "Frankly, I've got bigger things to worry about than some kid trying to play hunter. So, sweetheart—sucked meeting you. Good luck doing whatever it is you're trying to do."

He turned to leave, and Kat gaped after him in shock.

"That's it?"

"That's it," he said with a shrug. "I figure, if you're telling the truth, that's great. No harm done, good riddance. And if you're not, well…then I'm sure I'll catch you next time. Either way, I really suggest you clear out of her before we get back. Not sure how generous I'm gonna be feeling in twenty-four hours. Might be a few days. Come on, Bobby."

Dean walked over to the corner, snapping the laptop shut and stuffing it into a backpack that was lying on the floor. He stuffed a few of the available weapons in as well, and then made his way for the door, but he didn't get far.

"Excuse me?" asked Bobby. He hadn't moved from his position in the corner, and he was squinting at Dean in some kind of disbelief.

"What?"

"I had to drill a chair into my damn floor for this, boy, that's what! And now you just wanna let her go?"

Dean smirked again—a dangerous expression of victory that had sadism painted all over its edges.

"Oh we're not letting her go anywhere. She's gonna earn it."

Bobby grumbled at that, picking up his own belongings and following Dean into the hallway. It wasn't until they were halfway out the door that it clicked for Kat, and her jaw dropped.

"Wait, you're not gonna uncuff me?"

The front door opened, and Dean only paused long enough to stick his head back into the living room.

"Sweetheart, if you can't get out of those handcuffs, you're in the wrong business." He beamed, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Keys are on the kitchen counter, beer's in the fridge, and uh…I think that's everything. So. Have a nice life, Tinkerbell."

He winked at her, savoring the look of fury on her face, and then closed the door behind him.

Dean led the way off the porch. He could hear the old man following him, but he was still dragging his feet.

"Alright, what's your problem?" Dean asked.

Bobby sighed, casting a glance over his shoulder at the house. "You sure this is a good idea?"

"Hey, you were the one who wanted to believe her sob story."

"Well it ain't that much of a stretch," he said, shaking his head at Dean. "Hell, I've seen a lot of hunters do a lot worse when they're fresh, 'specially women. They get twitchy, somethin' scares 'em and _bang_. Just be glad you got one that punches before she shoots."

Dean rolled his eyes, and hoisted his bag up higher on his shoulder.

"Yeah I'm real thankful, thanks."

"But telling the truth don't mean I'm ready to leave her alone in my house."

"I don't know what you want me to say, Bobby. We got bigger fish to fry. And I for one would like to find Sammy before some demon chick sics her hellspawn puppies on him." Bobby cocked his head in agreement, and Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Besides, what's she gonna do? Toss your throw pillows on the floor? She's all of five and a half feet."

"Five and a half feet that kicked your ass."

Dean groaned, tossing his head back.

"How many times do I gotta say that I had _literally_ just climbed out of my own coffin? After a pretty gnarly tour of hell, thank you very much. So, yeah, I wasn't exactly what you'd call prepared."

"Prepared?" said Bobby, and his lips twitched into a smile. "To take on Barbie?"

"Shut up."

He huffed, walking away as the older man chuckled.

"Hey, where you think you're headed? Car lot's this way."

"I told you," said Dean. He didn't turn around, but reached into his pocket to pull out a set of keys. He spun them around his finger with a smile. "She wants to get loose, she's gonna earn it."

The Prius started up pretty quietly, but it was a sound Kat would have been able to pick up anywhere. Her head snapped toward the window as the engine revved, and then quickly kicked into gear.

"Oh, don't you dare, you motherfucker," she growled, straining against the handcuffs. "Don't you fucking dare! You're not taking my fucking car! Dean!"

But even if he could hear her screaming, he didn't seem to care. All she could do was sit as she listened to her car pull away from the house, out onto the road—going, going, and gone.

Kat let out a strangled scream, and threw herself back into the chair. It barely rattled, though the restraints were starting to do a number on her wrists. She glared at the stupid handcuffs, glared at the walls of the stupid living room, and glared at the hallway where she had last seen Dean's stupid face.

Next time she saw him on the road, she was going to run him over.

She waited for nearly twenty minutes out of determination and spite. They couldn't really have left her. Sure, she'd knocked out a seasoned hunter and thrown him in her trunk, but he'd gotten her back hadn't he? If he was really all that badass, then he'd definitely had worse things happen to him. A brief kidnapping shouldn't even be something to write home about for someone who'd been hunting his whole life.

But then of course, he had been knocked out by _a girl._ His masculinity had probably taken a harder hit than his throat.

When it became abundantly clear that Dean hadn't been joking about leaving her to fend for herself, Kat pouted and set about getting herself free. The first part wasn't all that hard. She simply tucked her legs up underneath her, squatting on the seat of the chair, and then hopped over the arm onto the floor. She had a little more leverage this way, but the issue was still going to be the chair itself. It was a sturdy piece of crap, and it wasn't going to break easy. Still, she kicked it a few times as hard as she could in the confined space—just to make herself feel better.

The most appealing option, of course, was to get a weapon. If she could just get a knife, she'd be able to make some pretty fast headway breaking through the arm of the chair. And if she could get a gun, she could just blow the arms off completely. That was preferable.

There were plenty of options around the room, but it would be tricky getting them into her reach. She twisted and strained as far as she could trying to reach the table, even just with the tip of her foot. But Dean must have seen that coming. All the furniture had been pushed just out of her reach, and though she stretched for all she was worth, there was no hooking herself around anything useful.

That meant she'd have to work with what she had on her…which was not much. Kat looked sullenly at the bolts on the floor. She wished she'd been one of those smart MacGyver girls who had barrettes that doubled as wrenches or something. Even then, she was sure Dean would have lifted them off her. Just like he'd lifted her damn keys.

As it was, the only thing she could really use were the handcuffs. It would be taking the long way around—the really, _really_ long way—but it was better than sitting in the chair until they got back.

Resigned, Kat hopped back into her seat and kicked her legs out in front of her. Then she grabbed as much of the handcuffs as she could, and began scraping them back and forth over the wood.

It was hard work. If the cuffs had been taking a toll on her wrists before, now they were taxing her through the roof. Her skin was red and raw from rubbing, and she had to keep taking breaks to avoid cutting herself on the metal.

Whenever she was giving her arms a break, she would hop onto the floor and go back to kicking the chair. Every now and then, she would hear a creak, as if the wood was ready to give way—but she could never be certain that she wasn't imagining it out of false hope.

It was dark out by the time she heard it for certain, and this time, it was real. Kat winced as she slammed her knee into the arm of the chair. There was an audible crunch. She froze, then hit again. _Crunch._ And suddenly, the bruises covering her legs didn't matter. Adrenaline surged through her as she hit and kicked and pulled at the arm. She was almost there. Just a few more kicks, just one more time, one more…

The right arm gave way with a snap, and Kat could have collapsed crying she was so relieved. But she didn't. Before her body could catch up, she wheeled around and kicked the left arm. It was easier now. She had more space to move, more room to strategically angle her attacks. And a few minutes later, that arm broke too.

Kat fell back on the floor, hitting her head on the hardwood, her arms thrown out to either side as she laughed. God, every single muscle hurt like a bitch, and she was sure she was about to bleed through the knees of her jeans, but she was free. And she took her time appreciating the lack of restraints. She stretched her muscles, curled up into a ball, rolled back and forth on the floor. Only when her stomach grumbled in protest did she heave herself onto her feet.

She crossed into the kitchen, quickly finding the keys to the handcuffs and shaking them loose.

The fridge wasn't well stocked, but Kat found enough to choose from. She hadn't eaten in about a day anyway, so she wasn't feeling picky. She helped herself to the beer Dean had mentioned, and sniffed at a container of leftover Chinese food. Deeming that it was acceptable, she began rifling through the drawers until she found the utensils.

It was strange to find that most of the drawers were stuffed with herbs and potion ingredients, but then again, it wasn't all that surprising. Bobby was clearly a hunter with a few miles on him. She could tell that just by looking at the public library he had stored in his living room. But he wasn't exactly organized. Everything he could need in a jam was stuffed into the drawers where it was accessible, and presumably, where only he would think to find it.

Eventually, she found some forks wedged next to a collection of athames. And personally, she thought that was pretty funny.

She didn't bother heating anything up, but simply shoved as many noodles into her mouth as she could manage at one time. The taste was a bit lost on her, hidden by the chill of the refrigerator, but it didn't taste awful. In fact, she probably would have scarfed down the whole thing in a few minutes if something hadn't caught her attention on the other side of the room.

Kat took a swig of beer and then scooped up her food, wandering towards the far wall. There were five different telephones mounted to the wall, each of them labelled with a shotty slab of duct tape— _Federal_ _Marshal_ , _FBI_ , _CDC_ , _Police_ , and even _Health_ _Department_. It was hard not to be impressed. She made a correction to her own mental note: Bobby definitely had more than a few miles on him. The man had this shit down to a science.

Pinning her fork between her teeth, Kat picked up the FBI phone and dialed the familiar number. It only rang twice before the line picked up.

 _"Hello?"_

"Mom? It's me."

 _"Katherine?"_ Her mother gasped. She sounded relieved, yet somehow, she managed to sound scornful by the end of her name. _"Kat, where the hell have you been? You were supposed to call me hours ago! I mean, I know you forget sometimes, but this?"_

"I know. I know, I'm sorry."

 _"You know I don't like you driving out there all alone. Is everything alright? Are you…?"_

"Mom, I'm fine. I just…I got caught up on a case."

If there was anything she could have said to make the situation worse, that was it.

There was a solid five seconds of silence on the other end of the phone. Then her mother composed herself, and continued in a tight voice, _"Is this Marcus again? Because so help me God, the next time I see that man, I will skin him. I told him—I told both of you—no cases back to back!"_

"It wasn't Marcus. It was me. I sort of…picked it up on my way back from Ohio." Kat grimaced her own joke, and propping the phone on her shoulder, returned to her Chinese food. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't call you. I was just so focused and then I got tied up by a lead. I promise you, I'm fine."

Her mother sighed.

 _"I hate when you do this. And I know that you're just trying to help people, and that you're being brave and wonderful, and that you don't deserve to have me on your back whining about coming home, but what can I say? I'm more selfish than you are, and I want my daughter at home."_

Kat smirked. "Listening to counselling tapes again, huh?"

 _"Is it helping?"_

"Do you want an honest answer?"

 _"I guess not,"_ her mother said dryly. _"How much longer do you think you'll be?"_

"I don't know. A few days?"

 _"What does it look like?"_

"I'm…not sure yet," Kat said hesitantly. She glanced around the kitchen, looking at the piles of newspapers and spell books. "All I can say right now is that it's a nice little family of assholes."

 _"Fine. Well, just promise you'll be careful."_

"I always am, Mom."

 _"Is there anything I can do to help? Research, phone calls…?"_

"Actually, yeah. Could you, uh…double check that the GPS tracker in my car is turned on?"

 _"…Why?"_

"Nothing, nothing. I'm working on a lure. Thanks, Mom."

 _"Wait! Katherine, what's this phone number you're calling from? Where…?"_

"Love you, bye!"

Kat dropped the phone back on the receiver and banged her head against the wall.

"Yeah, no problem, Mom. I totally didn't get my car jacked by some asshole, mega-macho hunter. Everything is totally under control."

Moodily, she took another bite of the take out.

It would be easy enough to find them. All she had to do was call the car company and she'd know where they were. The problem was how she was going to get there. Currently, she was stranded somewhere in South Dakota with no car, no money, and no weapons. That didn't leave her with spectacular odds.

The weapons weren't a problem, obviously. Just the living room had enough for a small arsenal. She'd take some knives, some guns, and if the men cooperated, she'd even think about giving them back.

The money and car were going to be a little trickier.

Common sense pleaded in the back of Kat's brain. The sensible thing to do would be to high tail it out of the house before there was a chance Dean and Bobby would return. It wouldn't be a far walk to civilization, and once she was there she could look into hitchhiking or getting a bus ticket. But neither of those options were appealing, and if she was being honest, there was a grain of spite in her that wouldn't let her sit comfortably.

In the end, reckless curiosity won out.

Kat dumped her dishes in the sink and set off to explore the house. She wasn't surprised to find that most of it was just as messy as the living room. Books and bottles were spread across the floor, trailing out of the living room and through the rest of the house. There wasn't much on the first floor—just the kitchen, a bathroom, the small library Bobby had amassed, and a corner utility room that didn't seem organized enough to utilize much of anything.

Upstairs was a little better, partially because it seemed less lived in. A stark contrast to the first floor, the second landing had pretty much nothing. Anywhere. There were several doors down the hall—some bedrooms, another bathroom, and one room that was completely empty except for a few piles of dust. However, she did find a closet that had everything from bedsheets to curse boxes. She figured that would be a good place to start snooping.

The usual places were first—the linen closet, the back of the freezer, under mattresses. Kat would have shaken out the pages of all the books, but she might have been there for another year. She did take a flip through a couple of them, purely out of interest. Bobby had certainly acquired a lot of useful knowledge over the years. And while she admired the effort it must have taken to get ahold of some of the texts, she didn't feel too bad about plucking a couple of them from the shelf. He had been complicit in kidnapping, after all.

Every drawer, every closet, every shelf—Kat scoured the whole building top to bottom. While searching one of the bedrooms, she found a beat up duffel bag she started using to collect items of interest. Some of the lore books found their way inside, along with a few plaid shirts, a first aid kit, and a few handguns. The best thing she'd found was a bottle of whiskey in one of the bedrooms. It hadn't been opened too long ago, judging by the contents, and it was nice to be able to treat herself while she was working.

After finding a wad of cash hidden inside the battery compartment of a discarded radio, Kat figured that she'd have enough supplies to make the trip. She'd glanced out the window earlier and found that Bobby's house was situated in the middle of a large yard, every inch of which was covered in cars. Or at least, rusted hulls that used to be cars. It only took tripping over a four different toolboxes before she realized that the guy's day job must have been a mechanic.

Kat was exasperated. Every hunter she'd ever met seemed to be a mechanic.

The problem, she thought as she stared out over the dark yard, was that Kat was definitely _not_ a mechanic. She doubted she'd even be able to change her oil without a YouTube tutorial running in real time. So as many cars as there were, Kat wasn't going to be able to fix any of them up. That meant sorting through all the cars until she found one that would run. And it also meant searching around until she found the right keys.

She looked down at the box in her hand. It was a valet box, though all the neatly arranged hooks for keychains had been ignored. The whole thing was stuffed with keys for different cars, different makes, different models. And she didn't have the slightest clue how to match them to their owners. The only thing she could think to do was good old trial and error—and that was going to take hours.

Kat looked out the window again, and then dropped the box on the kitchen counter. She had already pushed her luck staying in the house so long. But Dean had alluded to something more than a day trip. They way Bobby was talking, they were tracking someone down just like she was tracking them. She doubted they'd be home before the sun came up, and that gave her a few more hours at least.

There wasn't much in the kitchen, but Kat poured herself a generous portion of whiskey, and dragged a small side table over to the couch. Then she grabbed a particularly interesting looking manuscript and kicked her feet up so she could read.

It had been a pretty stressful day. A getaway car could wait for the sun. Kat was going to take a nap.


	3. Chapter 3

_"Good morning! This is Cheryl speaking, how can I assist you today?"_

"Good morning, Cheryl. How are you today?"

 _"Oh, I'm doing just fine. How about yourself?"_

"Ha. Well, I've had better mornings."

Kat pinned the FBI phone between her ear and her shoulder as she stood at the stove, prodding at the scrambled eggs in the pan. She tossed in some salt and pepper, then a lump of salvageable pepperoni that she'd found in Bobby's fridge. It wasn't exactly the breakfast of champions, but it would have to do.

 _"Aw, well I'm very sorry to hear that. I understand you're having trouble with your car?"_

"Uh, sort of," said Kat. "Mostly just having trouble finding it. It was sort of stolen."

 _"Oh gosh! Um…would you like me to put you in touch with the authorities? I can just…"_

"Oh, no, it's nothing like that. I know _who_ took the car, I'd just like it back now."

 _"Um…are you sure, ma'am?"_

"Absolutely. It's just my little sister being a brat. You know how it is—you steal her nail polish, she steals your diary, you steal her boyfriend, she steals your car. Normal sibling stuff."

 _"…right."_

"Look, she's—obnoxious, but she is my sister." Kat paused, staring down at the eggs in the pan. "I just want to make sure I find her before anyone else does. She's just a kid, and…I just want to make sure she's safe."

 _"Of course, ma'am. I completely understand."_ Cheryl didn't actually sound like she understood, but she did seem a bit less suspicious. Either way, she began clacking away on her computer _. "It should only take me a minute to locate the vehicle. Would you like to stay on the line or have the location sent to your mobile device?"_

"Well my phone is kind of in my car so…"

 _"Naturally. Just hold on one second, miss."_

Kat thanked her and finished up her eggs, slapping them onto the last of the bread with a slice of cheese. She'd planned on eating on the road, but it had taken her a lot longer than she'd guessed to find a car that would make the trip. She'd walked around the yard for hours with the box of keys, trying them on any vehicle that looked like it might run. Twilight into morning into afternoon—and finally she'd gotten a banged up Charger to gurgle to life. She'd positively screeched in victory, jumping around the car like an idiot. And then she'd calmed down and hurled her loot into the back.

By then she was too hungry to wait for the drive. She shoved half the sandwich in her mouth as Cheryl clicked around on the other end of the phone.

 _"Alright, Miss Moore. It looks like your car is safe and sound. Security is still intact, and the GPS is reading as 263 Adams Road, Pontiac, Illinois."_

Kat choked on her sandwich.

 _"Ma'am? Miss, are you alright?"_

"Yeah! Yes, uh…" She coughed a few times, clearing her throat. "Sorry, I'm fine, just…didn't expect her to cover that much ground."

 _"I could call the local police if you'd like? They'd probably be able to check on your sister in a few minutes."_

"Oh no, that's—that's sweet of you, Cheryl, but I'll go ahead and call them now. Thank you so much for all of your help."

 _"Of course, Miss Moore. Hope everything turns out alright."_

"Yes, thank you so much. Have a nice day."

Kat ended the call, chewing on her bottom lip.

Now there was a thought. Why would a stranded hunter like Dean ask for a lift all the way to South Dakota only to turn around and go right back to Pontiac, Illinois? Was he just looking for some back up from Bobby? If that was it, couldn't he just have called Bobby and asked to meet up? Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Dean had seen so damned sure that she hadn't picked him up on accident. That—or more likely—Dean was just another paranoid hunter who thought the world revolved around his problems.

Grinning with satisfaction, Kat slammed the phone back on the receiver.

"Gotcha now, you car-stealing son of a bitch."

With her sandwich finished, she stowed the what was left of the whiskey in her new duffel bag for safe keeping. She folded up the map that was spread over the kitchen table—a thin line tracing the roads back to the interstate—but paused on her way out the door. The two pairs of handcuffs were sitting on the kitchen counter, discarded and forgotten as soon as she'd freed herself. Now she doubled back, scooped them up and added them to her bag. Dean had given her the keys after all. As far as she was concerned, these were a gift.

Kat expected the drive to Pontiac to take forever, but travelling south actually seemed to make the hours slip by faster. For one, she knew where she was going, an exact address rather than a general town. More importantly, she no longer had a lifeless body stuffed in her trunk. The drive was a dream when she wasn't wary about being knocked out the next time she made a pit stop.

The sun had set by the time she pulled into town, the sky already black as she read her stolen road map by the light of the streetlamps. She wasn't a spectacular navigator, so it took some time before she was able to find Adams Road on the map, and even longer before she successfully managed to drive there. She knew she must be in the right place though, because 263 Adams Road was a seedy hotel. Right up any hunter's alley.

Kat parked the Charger in a dark corner, hoping it would be harder for anyone to notice how banged up it was. It didn't exactly stick out though. The Hotel Astoria didn't seem to be raking in a lot of high balling customers if the parking lot was anything to go by. It didn't take long to spot her clean silver Prius a few rows down. Kat inspected it carefully, but aside from a few burger wrappers that had been tossed in the back seat, the car seemed to be in perfect condition.

Well, that was one less time she'd have to kill Dean.

The lobby was just what she'd been expecting. Red walls, some glitzy lights, and a few painting prints that had probably been purchased from Target. Kat eyed the zebra print lounge sofa, but walked right up to the front desk.

"Welcome to Astoria," said the woman behind the desk, in the most painful customer service voice Kat had ever heard. "How can I help you today?"

"Uh, hi." Kat offered her a nervous smile, glancing around the lobby. "I'm not really sure if you've got a record of these things, but I was just driving by and I noticed that there's a car in the parking lot that's got its trunk open? It kinda looked like it'd been jimmied so, I figured someone ought to know about that."

"Oh gosh, that's awful!"

The woman seemed more resigned than surprised. It probably wasn't the first time there had been a minor robbery on the night shift. But she picked up the phone dutifully, nevertheless.

"Do you remember what kind of car it was?"

"Um, silver Prius. It looked pretty new."

"A silver—oh! I know _exactly_ who that was." The woman paused the number she was dialing, and to Kat's surprise, she actually giggled. "Sorry, that probably seems unprofessional, but…man, the guy who stepped outta that car was fine. Not an easy face to forget."

Kat laughed along with her, her hands balling into fists at her sides.

The woman pressed a few quick keys on the phone, oblivious to Kat's quick peek over the counter.

"Also, do you have a restroom I could use?"

The woman nodded, jerking a hand towards the hall on her right. She was fixated on the phone, more concerned about talking to the handsome man on the other end than wherever Kat was going.

Kat made a beeline for the elevators. That had been even easier than she'd hoped. She quickly pressing the button for the second floor and closing the doors before anyone could look twice.

Of course, no one would find anything suspicious about a blonde going up in the elevator by herself, especially in a place like this. All of the doors had their room numbers printed on card suits, and the lighting was dim enough that Kat had to squint to make sure she was reading them right. To anyone passing in the hall, she was just another girl on her way to meet another client for the night. That suited her just fine.

All the way at the end of the hall was a wooden door with a red heart on it—room 207. She should have hesitated to consider her options. After all, if this was the wrong room, she didn't exactly have a backup plan. But without that intelligent thought nagging at her brain, Kat raised a hand and pounded on the door.

She didn't have to worry.

"Bobby, I thought you were going to check…"

The door swung open, Dean standing there in confusion which quickly soured to shock. For the briefest moment, there was even a slight flicker of fear.

"Oh crap."

"Hey, Dean."

Kat beamed up at him, and quickly connected her foot with his crotch.

Dean doubled over, which made it that much easier for Kat to knee him in the face and shove him back into the room. She slammed the door behind her, smacked the hand that was reaching for her, and landed a solid punch against his side.

"That's for stealing my fucking car, jackass."

She blocked the next two swings, and side stepped when he came charging at her. It wasn't too hard to grab him and fling him past. Kat turned and kicked him in the lower back, hurtling him forward. Dean collided with the door with a satisfactory thud, and then slid to the floor.

"I'll give you this," he groaned as he rolled onto his back, grimacing up at her. "You pack a punch for a little girl."

"Oh, you have no idea, Winchester."

Kat savored the look of surprise on his face, and then slammed her fist into it.

Dean went down hard this time, which gave her some time to shake herself out. She usually tried to avoid punching people in the face if she could help it. It wasn't effective, and there was a higher chance of hurting yourself than actually damaging someone's skull. But she figured he'd earned that last blow for being an asshole.

Kat stretched out her fingers as she surveyed the room—red carpet, red lamp shades, and a tiger print wall of all things. The hotel definitely wasn't trying to shy away from the red-light district vibe. But at least the room had more than a bed. There was a pull-out couch, a coffee table, even a small kitchenette. And there standing in the corner, was Dean's brother.

He hadn't even put down the book he'd been reading. He just stared at her in complete confusion, complete shock.

" _What_?"

That made Kat smile.

"Hi, Sam. How you been?"

She took a few steps forward, which seemed to spur him into action. The book fell, replaced with a knife before it had even hit the bed. He gripped it blade down, ready to swing, but still had one hand out in front of him. Even poised to strike, he was cautious.

"What do you want?"

"Want?"

Sam's hand tightened around the hilt of the blade.

"We already told you at the diner, we don't know what's going on. We don't know anything more than you do. So if you wanna talk, fine. But you leave her out of it."

Kat squinted at him. She scoffed, then chuckled, and finally laughed openly as he stared at her with determination.

"Oh, I see, you—you don't think this is really me." She pushed her hair out of her face, squaring off her stance with a dangerous smile. "Well you better think fast, Winchester. Cause I'm about to fuck you up."

Kat ran forward, and Sam held his ground to meet her.

The first thing to go was the knife. Sam's swipes were sluggish and wide, betraying his reluctance to actually use the weapon. Kat dodged and caught his arm mid-swing, ramming it into the corner of the dresser and forcing him to drop the blade. He landed a punch to her stomach, and she blocked twice more before she lost her footing. Sam caught her, using the split second advantage to spin her around and send her reeling into the wall.

She went head first, her neck snapping forward painfully as her body threatened to fold beneath her. But Sam was back, and he slammed her against the wall again. He wrangled her arms together, one huge hand holding her wrists over her head while he pressed a forearm against her throat.

Sam glared down at her in triumph, his hair half hanging over his eyes.

 _"Christo."_

Kat sputtered, struggling to breathe.

 _"Christo,"_ Sam repeated, pushing a little harder.

Her hands clawed at the air above her, fighting against his grip. But desperate suffocation was not the usual response of a demon in distress.

Sam's grip slackened, and Kat immediately gasped in new air. He stared down at her with wide eyes, retracting his shaking arm. Fury changed once again to disbelief.

"K-Kat?"

Kat panted, waiting until the shooting pain in her throat had started to subside. Then she lifted her head with eyes full of rage.

"This is for leaving."

Her knee rammed into his groin, taking him by surprise and forcing him to drop her hands. She stomped on his left foot, then braced her right hand and rammed her elbow into his chin. Sam's head whipped back, and he stumbled away from her. But Kat wasn't done with him yet.

Each strike was careful, now—meticulous and according to plan. A shove, a right hook, a short kick.

"This is for forgetting about us."

Kat knocked an arm out of the way, swinging her arm in a backhanded slap that sent Sam tumbling into the window. She paused by the bed, picking up a book and weighing it in her hands as he fell to his knees. She nodded to herself, then swung the book around and slammed it into his head.

Sam slumped to the carpet, and Kat dropped the book next to him.

"And that's for my sister, you heartless piece of shit."

She felt it a second too late—a hand grabbing a fistful of her hair. Kat's head was yanked back toward the ceiling. She reacted on instinct, one arm twisting around her assailant's while the other went for the throat.

But Dean was ready for her this time. He caught the punch, twisting her arm and throwing her off her feet again. She blocked his next two jabs, but missed the left hook that came flying at her face.

"Dean, no!"

Kat could hear Sam yelling, but she was focused on his brother. She ducked as Dean swung at her again, and used his momentum to twist his arm painfully in the opposite direction. He yelped, twisting away and instead deciding to body slam her into the wall. He grabbed her before she could recover, making the brief mistake of covering her mouth. Kat promptly bit down on his hand.

"Ah! Motherfucker!" Dean retracted his hand, grabbing her skull and smashing it against the wall again. "Fucking bitch."

Winded and reeling, Kat did not put up much of a fight as Dean wrapped his arms around her torso. He wrestled her farther into the room. She could only imagine he was heading for weapons by now, since she'd wailed on both him and his younger brother. But Sam's voice was still going in the background.

"Just stop it! Both of you! Dean!"

"What?" Dean snapped, glaring at his brother.

"Just—Just hold on, Dean. Don't hurt her."

"Excuse me? Don't _hurt her?"_

"Yes! Just stop for—for like two seconds! Please! Just let Kat go."

"I'm sorry, do you _know_ this lunatic?"

Kat jumped to the best of her ability, throwing her weight down to the floor. She and Dean went toppling to the carpet, a pile of flailing limbs and muffled curse words. She managed to land a solid kick against the side of his head, buying herself enough time to scramble away triumphant. She jumped to her feet, ready to grab another book and start swinging.

 _Click._

Kat froze. Her time was up.

Disappointment filled her chest as she turned slowly toward the door. She was now looking at their old friend Bobby down the barrel of a gun.

"Funny," he said. "Got a call that the car we hijacked had been broken into. Went downstairs, but the Prius seemed just dandy. Figured I'd find you up here when I got back."

Bobby looked down at the two men on the floor, seeming concerned but also exasperated.

"This girlie got the jump on you again?"

Dean glowered at him, one hand massaging his jaw. "Would you just shut up and shoot her?"

"No!" Sam yelled again, waving an arm. "No! Stop! Look—nobody is shooting anyone!"

"You sure?" asked Bobby.

"Yes! Just…"

Sam groaned, pushing himself onto his feet once more. He had to test his weight on his foot, and limping a little bit, took a cautious step towards Kat. Her hands balled up into ready fists at her sides, and he held up his hands.

"Kat…Katherine, listen to me. You have to understand. I am so…"

"No!" Kat jabbed a finger at him. She was horrified to hear her voice close to breaking. She steeled herself, letting out a short derisive laugh before she glared at him. "No fucking way, Sam. You do not get to say that to me. You do not get to stand there and look me in the eye after three goddamn years and suddenly tell me that you're sorry."

"I know." Sam nodded, and she could see him swallow thickly. "I know, but…I am. I'm sorry—for all of it. For everything. I'm _so_ sorry."

"Fuck you."

"Kat, please…"

She trembled as she stared at him. She knew that he was sorry. Every inch of him screamed it, every bruised bit of flesh where he hadn't bothered to fend off her attack. His voice shook with the weight of the words, and his pathetic puppy dog look pleaded with her to tell him that she understood. That everything was okay because she knew that he was sorry.

"Alright," Dean spat from his spot on the floor. "Does someone want to tell me what I'm missing here? What the hell is going on?"

Sam raised his hands again, as if trying to ward of Kat's nasty look.

"Dean," he sighed, "this is Katherine. Katherine Moore."

It was silent while Dean processed that. His eyebrows raised a little higher.

"Moore? As in…Jessica Moore?"

"Yeah. She's Jess's sister."

Everyone was looking at her now, reevaluating her appearance in a new light. Kat's hands twitched at her sides, and she forced herself to smile bitterly.

"Hi."

"Well, that explains a few things," grumbled Dean.

He waved a hand at Bobby, who lowered the gun so he could help Dean to his feet. He didn't put the gun down though, something that did not go unnoticed.

"Bobby, it's fine," said Sam. "She's not dangerous."

"You ask her that? Cause she seems pretty dangerous to me. Last thing we need is another problem kicking our sorry asses."

Kat saw red.

"Excuse me? My sister _died_ because of them!"

"Yeah? Well join the club, sweetheart. Somebody's always dying."

"You do not," growled Kat, taking a step closer to the older man, "get to tell me that my grief isn't important enough."

"An I don't have to tell you there's bigger things than grief in this world, girl."

"Like what?"

"Well for one, me," said Dean. He smiled, and offered her a small wave. "Hi. I recently died myself, so excuse me if I don't have time for your pity party. I just came back from Hell. And that's Hell with a capital H. I sold my soul to a demon."

"Dean!"

"She's a hunter, Sam! She knocked me out of the side of the freaking highway."

"Wait, _Kat?"_ Sam looked back and forth between the two of them. "This is the girl who picked you up hitchhiking?"

"Yeah," said Dean, rolling his eyes. "It's a small world after all."

"Or she planned it," offered Bobby.

"I told you," Kat scoffed. "I wasn't tracking you, I wasn't hunting you. We've been through this."

"Well you also tried to tell me that you thought I was a ghoul, so I'm not inclined to really believe any of your _bullshit."_

"How _did_ you find him?" asked Sam. "And how did you find us? Dean said he left you at Bobby's."

"I tracked my car, idiot. And with Dean, I _did_ pull over cause I thought he might be a stray ghoul. But then he started talking about you, and I recognized him from the funeral. Reason kind of blacked out after that."

"Yeah," Dean snorted. "Understatement."

Kat glowered at him, shaking her head.

"You know what? You got bigger problems, that's fine by me. I didn't come here for some heartfelt, touching reunion to take up your time. I just came for one thing."

She stepped forward, ignoring the way Bobby's gun followed her, and stared up into Sam's face. He barely flinched when she slapped him with all the strength she had.

"Fuck you, Sam Winchester."

She turned on her heel, and headed straight back through the door.

"Kat, wait. Kat!"

Sam ran out into the hallway after her. She had to debate with herself—break into a run to avoid him, or keep marching at the same pace to save face. She didn't want to sprint, but Sam's legs were twice as long as hers. It was barely seconds before he'd caught up, overtaken her, and planted himself between her and the elevator.

"Katherine, please."

"Move, Sam."

"No. Not until you hear me out."

"It's been three years, Sam. Three years since she died. I don't want to listen to anything you have to say to me. I don't care."

"Well I think you do. I know you, Kat. And I don't think you drove five hundred miles just to punch me a few times."

"You deserve it," she spat, and Sam actually smiled.

"I do. I deserve a hell of a lot more than that. You're right. You're right about everything. When…When Jess died, I felt like I lost everything. For years I'd—I'd just been trying to live this normal life, and I thought I was going to be able to. But I couldn't. Everything caught up to me, and Jess died because of it. She died because of me and after that… Kat, how was I supposed to look you in the face after that?"

Kat did not answer him. She didn't even want to look at him. Partially because, for years, just thinking about Sam had made her so angry she felt sick. And partially because, now that she finally had him in front of her, she was afraid she might change her mind.

Sam took another step forward, ducking his head down.

"The only thing I could think about was killing the thing that did it. Getting even. And everything kind of snowballed along the way, but I did it, Kat. He's dead."

"I know."

Sam gaped at her, and Kat broke her stoic face to roll her eyes.

"Honestly, what do you think I've been doing for three years, Sam? The moment I found out about all of this, I started asking around about women who died in fires. A few hunters pointed me in the right direction, and then a couple months later, everyone was talking about how the Winchester boys had killed some big-wig, yellow-eyed demon and let a couple hundred assholes out of Hell. Some people are even saying you were dead for a day or two."

"You know about that?" Sam asked in surprise.

"People talk," she said with a shrug. "Plus, you and your brother aren't exactly spectacular at flying under the radar. While you were running around with Dean, the rest of us have been cleaning up after your mess."

Sam's jaw was clenched, and it looked like he was about to argue. She half hoped that he would. But he deflated, and shook his head at the floor. When he looked up, he was snickering.

Kat stared at him incredulously. "You think this is funny?"

"No, sorry. It's just...it's weird listening to you talk like this. About demons, hunting."

"Trust me, I'd love to forget half the shit I know. But I guess life had different plans for me."

"Yeah, I know the feeling." Sam ran a hand over his face. He glanced back at the room over her shoulder, and finally sighed. "Look, it's been...a really weird day. I just got Dean back, and we're still not sure how it happened. So I'm begging you, Kat. Just stay one night, and I'll explain everything in the morning. And after that, you can take your car, and you never have to see me again. Just... Please."

Kat stared past him at the elevator. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek.

Fuck. The car. She hadn't even stopped to think about the car. She'd been so caught up in the drama of it all, the thrill of finally getting to exact her own justice, that she hadn't thought twice about her situation. Her big dramatic exit, and she would have wound up in the parking lot with a stranger's car again. What a spectacular fucking exit strategy.

Mentally, she kicked herself. She had not put enough thought into this.

For ages she'd dreamed about catching up with Sam—about kicking the shit out of him and giving him a piece of her mind. But that was as far as her dreams had ever gotten. She'd never thought about what he might say to her, or what she'd do with an apology. Did she want one? Did she want an explanation? Or should she just hit him again and make a break for it?

Sam held his breath as he watched her. It had always been hard to tell what she was thinking, most especially when she didn't want anyone to know. She could hug him or slug him without blinking an eye. He tried to brace himself for the worst. His head was still aching from the smack down, and he wasn't completely confident he'd be able to beat her in a rematch. He didn't think he could take another knee to the nuts.

Finally, Kat moved. She uncrossed her arms from her chest, and held out her hand palm up. When he didn't respond, she huffed.

"Car keys. If I'm staying, I need…I don't know. My toothbrush."

Sam's chest heaved with relief, and his face broke into a wide smile.

"Yeah—Yes. Absolutely. Just give me a sec."

He held up a hand, hoping it would keep her still while he walked back to the room. He was half expecting her to run the moment he moved out of her way. But Kat stayed rooted to the spot. She wasn't looking at him, was still facing the elevator as he walked around her. But she was there. That had to count for something.

"Kat," he said softly. "Thank you."

Her head moved a fraction, twisting over her shoulder so that he could almost see her face. "Don't thank me yet."

Sam nodded, and once he could tear his eyes away, he headed back to the hotel room.

Bobby and Dean were waiting for him, looking expectant if not still confused. Dean had gotten a few more beers from the fridge, and was drinking one while the other was pressed between his legs. He gave Sam a surly look, but passed him a cold bottle.

"Well that went well," Bobby grumbled, looking between the pair of them.

"Could have been worse," Sam sighed, glancing back at the hall. "Look, Kat's gonna stay the night. Bobby, do you think you could show her where you parked the car? Get her settled in?"

"You mean babysit the karate kid so she doesn't bolt?"

"Uh…yeah." Sam winced. "Please?"

"You know," Bobby huffed, "one of these days you boys are gonna have to take care of your problems on your own. Maybe then I'll take a vacation."

"Thanks, Bobby."

"Yeah, yeah. Ice your balls, ya idjit."

He slapped Sam on the shoulder, and nodded to Dean before he walked out the door.

Dean took another swig of beer, and then let out a lengthy breath.

"That was weird. Even by our standards."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

Sam took a seat on the end of the bed, easing the bottle between his legs. It didn't do much to help, but anything was better than nothing. He groaned, and glanced at his brother, who'd gone quiet.

"You alright?"

"Yeah. M'fine."

Sam could have snorted. Dean looked anything less than fine, beer between his legs, knuckles scratched and red, and a few fresh bruises forming on his face. They'd had worse, but with everything that had happened in the last few days, Sam wondered if he shouldn't rethink the word "fine."

Dean didn't give him a chance to ask, though. Instead he cleared his throat, shooting a look at the door.

"So you're okay with all of this?"

"You mean do I believe her?" he asked. "I mean…yeah, I guess."

"You don't think that's even a little suspicious?"

"We both tested her, Dean. She's not a demon."

"She doesn't have to be a demon to be bad news, Sam." Dean put both beers aside, facing Sam head on. "I mean, me popping outta the hot box? A hoard of demons just suddenly heading my way? Your girlfriend's sister showing up out of the blue? You think that's a coincidence?"

Sam sighed. He knew that Dean had a point. Nothing ever seemed to happen to them out of coincidence. Sometimes it felt like everything that had ever happened to them had been a chess move made by someone else. But he couldn't bring himself to think like that about Kat. She was part of a different life, one that was supposed to be completely separate from all the horror and monsters. His head was still spinning from her sudden appearance. He hadn't had time to consider that she might have ulterior motives. At the moment, the only thing he knew for certain was that she was angry, and he didn't want her to be.

"I don't know what it is," he said finally.

"Well, obviously she's not your biggest fan."

"Dean, she's hurt," said Sam emphatically. "And she's got every right to be. That doesn't mean she's evil."

"I don't know." Dean shook his head, picking up his beer. "I don't like it."

Sam watched him, unable to stop himself from smirking.

"You don't like that she showed up, or that she kicked your ass?"

That earned him a dirty look.

"I'm allowed to be pissed about both," Dean grumbled, situating a fresh bottle of beer against his crotch. "That fucking hurt, man."

"Yeah, well don't feel too bad. Kat's got a lot of training."

"So do we."

"Dean, Dad taught us how to shoot off shotguns and throw punches in motel parking lots," Sam laughed. "Kat's been working with professionals for…hell, for years."

"Years?"

"Yeah, she owns a gym, teaches self-defense classes. Or at least, she used to. I don't know what she's doing now."

"Has she always been so…" Dean paused, waving a hand aimlessly as he tried to decide on a word. "…angry?"

"No." Sam's smile faded, and his eyes drifted back to the closed door. "I mean, intense, sure. She was always a little intimidating, but she was nice, fun…protective. I guess losing Jess just changed a lot."

He took another sip of beer, but it didn't do much to derail his train of thought.

No, Kat hadn't been so angry when he'd known her. She was quiet, but bright and even funny when she wanted to be. She'd teased him whenever he came around, let him sneak in the back of the gym when Jess was helping out with the books. And she could be strict about it, sure. He'd seen her frustrated and driving with road rage. But he'd never seen her angry.

He didn't have to guess to know that losing Jess had changed her. He'd lost Dean and changed just as much. But what was worse was that he'd seen Kat change, in the weeks right after Jess had died. He and Dean had stuck around, just long enough to look for clues, anything that might point them in the right direction. He'd gone to Jess's funeral, hugged Kat as she'd sobbed, listened to her mother talk about how she'd been so withdrawn that she'd hardly talked to anyone. Jess had been Kat's best friend, and no one knew what she might do at the prospect of life without her.

And then…he'd left. He'd answered her emails at first, taken a few calls, but everything had to be put on hold when he was hunting. He wanted to focus on killing the demon, on finding his dad. And before he knew it, it'd been years since he'd spoken to her, years since he even though about anyone from his life at Stanford. He'd left when she was at her weakest, left Kat and her family to deal with a mess that they were only in because of him.

Sam had come to terms with the fact that Jessica's life had ended because of him. But he hadn't stopped to consider that Kat's life had ended too.

"Don't," said Dean firmly, reading the solemn look on his brother's face. "It's the job, Sammy. You keep in touch, you paint a target on their back. You were doing it to protect her."

"Yeah. A lot of good that did her."

Dean rolled his eyes, kicking his feet up on the pull out couch.

"Listen, buy the chick a bagel and save your chick flick man pain for the morning, alright? For now at least can we focus on figuring out what kind of demon can raise a soul from hell and burn your peepers out with one look?"

He pointedly picked up one of the lore books Bobby had dumped on the bed, and settled back into reading.

"Yeah," said Sam, running a tired hand down his face. "Sorry. You're right."

"Damn right I am. My ass comes way before Tinkerbell."

Sam paused as he picked up one of the manuscripts, gaping at Dean.

"Please tell me you didn't call her that to her face."

"I'll call her whatever the hell I want," he said, glaring over the top of the book. "She throat punched me on the side of the road, Sam. And I didn't even do anything to her! Not cool!"

Sam stared at his brother. He didn't blame him for forgetting about Katherine. Kat hadn't been a part of his life like she had been in Sam's. To Dean, Kat had just been another crying girl at another funeral on another hunt. And how many funerals had they been to over the years?

But Kat, clearly, had remembered Dean. He could only imagine what she'd been thinking on the highway, pulling up to this hitchhiker and realizing who it was. It shouldn't be funny, but he suddenly wished he'd been there to watch her flip out—a tiny blonde girl pouncing on an unsuspecting Dean Winchester.

"What are you laughing at?" Dean snapped.

"Dude, I'm pretty sure you were flirting with her at the funeral."

"What? No, dude, come on. I know I'm an asshole but I've got some boundaries." Dean shook his head vehemently. He looked down at the book, and his eyes flicked back and forth as he sifted through his memories for some detail about Jess's funeral. "…Did I really?"

Sam laughed. He really laughed, for the first time in months.

Ever since Dean had been gone—been in Hell—things had been bleak. He was functional, sure, but life hadn't been the same. It hadn't felt like it was worth living. Ruby had been able to talk some sense into him. Dean wouldn't have wanted him to be a zombie, or to go out and get himself killed. But at the same time, Sam had to wake up every morning and know that he was the reason that Dean was gone. It was his fault, and he couldn't do anything about it.

But now, here he was—kicking back on a pull out couch, drinking a beer, defending himself as he talked about all the girls he'd flirted with in his life, and how none of _them_ had choke slammed him into their cars. Their lives weren't normal, but this was about as normal as it got.

Sam took a seat on the bed, only half reading as he listened to Dean's voice. Something big was happening, and neither of them had any clue what was going on. But he'd take this uncertain world with Dean over the alternative every time.


	4. Chapter 4

The room Kat was staying in was directly below the boys, as close to the stairwell as possible. That was a precautionary measure she wouldn't normally have thought to take. But as it turned out, she wouldn't be sleeping alone.

"Hope you don't mind sharing," said Bobby, as he followed her into the room. "There ain't exactly a bunch of dough to spare."

He smiled at her, and pointedly dropped his bag on the only bed in the room. Kat bitterly slung her own duffel on the floor next to the couch. Too tired to bother with the pull out, she plopped down on the cushions and toed off her boots.

"You don't have to lie, Bobby. I know they stuck you with babysitter duty."

"Well, can't say I blame 'em," he said with an easy shrug. "Case you haven't noticed, you've kinda got a track record going."

"I know his ego was bruised, but I really didn't mean to knock Dean out. I recognized him, I went to punch him, and then he fainted like a damsel in a heat flash. Didn't feel like I had a lot of options at that point."

"Ya think of maybe tellin' the truth?" Bobby asked. "Least when we got you back to the house."

"Right," Kat scoffed, kicking her feet up on the couch. "You think you would have believed me if I tried telling you I was Sam's ex-girlfriend's sister turned hunter?"

To his credit, Bobby thought about it. Then he grunted and turned his back on would have laughed at the look on his face, but her head throbbed painfully instead.

Kat bit back a groan, one hand massaging her head. It had been easy for her to forget about having her head slammed into the wall repeatedly, having Dean's fist collide with her face, what with all the drama. Apparently, her skull wasn't quite so willing to move on. Reluctant to move, she slid to the edge of the cushions, stretching to rummage around in her bag by the tips of her fingers. When she found her bottle of aspirin, she knocked two back dry with practiced ease.

"How did you turn hunter?"

Kat looked up in surprise. Bobby was still unpacking one of his bags, laying book after book of lore out on the bed. But he was watching her steadily, just as he had back at the house.

"Why?"

"Just curious. Not exactly a choice most sane people make."

She frowned at him, and laid back to look at the ceiling.

"Same way everyone does, I guess. Someone died."

"Well sure, I'd guessed that much. Don't explain how you found out about all this, how you got trained up."

"I told you. I've got Marcus."

"Marcus got a last name?"

"Not that you'd know," Kat laughed dryly. "He doesn't talk much, and I'm pretty sure it's been a few years since he left a three-hundred-mile radius of Vegas. He's kind of a curmudgeon."

"You know a hunter who isn't?" She heard Bobby snort somewhere on the other side of the room. "We're not the most social folk. 'Specially when it comes to picking up protégés."

Kat shrugged, staring stubbornly at the ceiling. She'd had a long day. A few long days, actually. Between her cross country road trip to Ohio, the ghoul family that she'd taken on—solo, for that matter—kidnapping, being kidnapped, and then beating up her sister's ex-boyfriend, she was beat. It was hard to get herself in the mood for the care and share meet and greet that Bobby was trying to have with her. She was hoping that if she was silent enough, he'd leave her be. Maybe if she tried not to move he'd forget that she was there. He was an old dog, after all.

But Bobby didn't seem ready to let up. When she finally grew tired of the feeling of his expectant eyes boring into her, Kat huffed and let her head loll to the side to look at him.

"He didn't pick me up, alright? I asked."

"And he said yes?" asked Bobby. "Why?"

"I didn't give him much of a choice. I got…tied up in one of his cases, and when it was over, I made it clear that I was gonna get my answers one way or another. After a couple weeks he decided taking me in was better than letting me go off on my own and get myself killed."

He nodded thoughtfully. Kat saw the smallest pause—a moment where Bobby's eyes flicked up from his lore books to consider her—and then he was back to business.

"That after your sister?"

"Yeah. A few months."

"So you just up and hopped in a car with a stranger to avenge your sister's death?" Bobby shook his head, moving a stack of books off the mattress. "What'd your folks think of that?"

Kat looked over at him incredulously. If he thought she was going answer that, he must have caught a second-hand concussion from Dean. She wasn't going to gush her sob story to every hunter she ran across.

She rolled onto her side, turning her back on him. It was difficult to get comfortable on the sofa—something told her it hadn't exactly been designed for function. It was less about being comfortable, and more about letting her limbs go numb so that she wasn't in any actual pain. And the feeling was just starting to leave her when someone cleared their throat.

Bobby was standing over her, holding out a crack-and-go cold pack. He squinted down at her without a smile. Kat assumed he was trying to look intimidating, but she realized that he was actually inspecting her face. His sharp eyes lingered on the sore spot on her cheek, where she was sure there'd be a bruise by morning. But he gave a satisfied nod, and tossed the ice pack on her stomach.

"For your head. Face should be fine in a few days. Dean's got a lot a power, but his left hook's sloppy."

"Oh…thanks."

He nodded, and walked away without another word.

Kat propped the ice pack up on her pillow, leaning back against it with instant relief. The condensation would be a bitch, but swelling would be worse. She could handle some water running down her back in the night. She doubted she was going to get a lot of sleep anyway.

Bobby didn't seem to be heading to bed either. He propped himself up against the shitty motel pillows, still fully dressed, and opened up one of the hefty lore books. Already back to researching whatever it was that he and the Winchester boys had gotten wrapped up in this time. Kat could only think of the stories.

She chewed on her lip, but decided to risk it.

"What was it like?" Bobby glanced over at her, and Kat shrugged causally. As if she was asking about the weather. "Dean, I mean. He really go to Hell?"

A shadow fell over his face. She almost felt bad for asking, but turnabout was fair play. He'd gotten his answers, and she wanted hers.

"Far as I can tell," he grumbled finally, looking back at his book. "Says he don't remember, so I guess we don't know for sure. Can't imagine there's another place ya go after a tango with a hellhound."

"Hellhounds? Seriously?"

"As a heart attack. All the crossroads demons have 'em. Get the dirty work done when it's time to collect on a deal. Nasty mothers."

Kat nodded. She knew about crossroads demons, as a concept at the very least. But she'd yet to run into someone who had made a deal, and she'd never head of someone who'd successfully squealed on one. There could only be a handful of them in the world. And Dean had gotten out post-collection. That, she knew, was a new one.

"So if Dean made a deal, does that mean Sam…? Was he really…?"

"Dead?" asked Bobby gruffly. "About two days. Hate to break it to you, but a demon beat you to the punch."

"I don't want Sam dead. It's not like that."

"Coulda fooled me."

She sat up with a reluctant sigh. Her head throbbed with the motion, and she had to pinch her nose to stop the room from spinning. When she looked back at Bobby, though, her gaze was steady.

"I'm not gonna pretend that Sam and I were super close. He was my baby sister's boyfriend, and I only knew him for about a year. But I'm not exactly swimming in friends here."

Bobby made a noise like a snort that threatened to interrupt her, and Kat held up a hand.

"A couple of days after Jess's funeral, he just…disappeared. No one had heard from him, he wasn't answering his phone, he wasn't answering texts. And I figured it was the grief, you know? He just wanted to deal with it on his own, and being around people was too much. Which is—whatever. I'm the same way. But I kept calling, because…I guess I just wanted to talk to someone who could understand what I was going through. And eventually I called and…his number had been disconnected.

"I got over it, obviously. I knew we weren't close but…after I started hunting I found out the truth. That it was a demon that killed Jess, and that the Winchesters were this big, badass hunting family, and I realized that Sam didn't run away because it hurt too much. He ran away cause it was his fault, and he had more important things to deal with than cleaning up the mess he left behind. So excuse me if I'm still a little bitter about being ditched and lied to."

It took a moment for her own words to catch up to her. When they did, her gaze immediately sunk to the floor.

She was being a whiny bitch. She knew it. Just in the last year of hunting, she'd seen so much horror, so much tragedy, and now she was sitting on a motel couch complaining about how a friend hadn't returned her calls. She was sitting on a motel couch complaining to a complete stranger. Once she'd started talking, it'd been hard to stop. She couldn't remember the last time she'd really gotten the chance to talk about Jessica.

Well. So much for keeping her feelings on lock down.

Bobby closed the book he was reading. He tossed it on the bed next to him and crossed his arms over his chest, fixing her with an impatient and unimpressed look.

"You 'bout done?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Good. Cause first off, nothing was Sam's fault."

This time it was Kat who made the noise of protest, but Bobby was rolling his eyes before she'd even opened her mouth.

"Yeah, I know you're pissed. And maybe you're allowed to be, but that don't make you right. At the end of the day, it's the demon that killed your sister. Not Sam."

"I know that. But it's a car wreck."

"Excuse me?"

"A car wreck," she repeated firmly. "If you get in a crash and hit a pedestrian, you don't get to just drive away because someone hit you first."

He stared at her blankly.

"How many years you been sitting on that analogy?"

It took a lot of effort for Kat to hold her tongue. This conversation was rapidly shooting downhill.

"Look," Bobby continued, "I'm sorry about what happened to your sister. It ain't right, and it ain't fair. But that's life. And it ain't like the boy walked out on you for a damn picnic. Maybe you missed the part where I said he _died—_ fighting off that demon and making sure it was good and dead. He lost his old man, he lost—hell I don't even know how many times he's watched Dean die. So if you ask me, I say Sam's paid his penance. Twice over. Maybe think on that next time you decide to start swinging."

He picked up the book again with an air of finality, and returned to his research in silence.

Kat held her ice pack to her head, watching him moodily. So maybe she was being petulant. Maybe she didn't have a great grasp on the "bigger picture" and the "greater good" and all that bullshit. That was within her right. And who the hell was Bobby to tell her how she was supposed to feel? Jess was her sister—her baby sister—and she'd died because Sam Winchester didn't have it in him to be honest or stay away. And he hadn't bothered with honesty or apologies when she died either. He'd just disappeared and tried to bury Kat with her sister out of his mind. Well, that was wrong. And he got what he had coming to him.

 _"Kat, how was I supposed to look you in the face after that?"_

Sam's words were still rolling around inside her head. He had a point. Because he had gone off to grieve, in his own way. Sam had been hell-bent on revenge for Jess while Kat had been at home wallowing. And if he had stayed, if he'd told her the truth—that Jess had died because a demon was targeting him and his family—would she really have believed him anyway?

Kat squeezed the ice pack against her head, biting back a groan. There were too many things going on right now, and she could barely think straight. It had been a long drive, and she didn't want to think anymore. It was only making her head hurt more.

"Hey," she said, looking back to Bobby. "Do you…?"

"You know," he said abruptly, cutting her off, "I think I'm fresh out of rat's asses to give tonight. So if you're looking for any more therapy it's gonna have to wait until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" she asked, smirking. "Does that mean I passed your little interrogation?"

Bobby frowned at her. He put his book aside again and heaved himself up to his feet. He walked over to the couch so that he could look down on her with narrowed eyes. This time, he _was_ trying to be intimidating.

"Listen, girlie. I don't trust you far as I could throw you—and I got a bad back. But this ain't about me. It's about Sam. Now, boy's heart is bigger than his head most times, but he doesn't seem that worried about you. So for now, that's good enough for me. But the moment I change my mind, you're not gonna have to worry about Dean's left hook, cause you're gonna be dealing with mine. Got it?"

Kat looked up into his face. There was a furious edge there, a protective fire that told her that he was being completely serious with her. But there was no trembling. Not a misplaced nerve in sight. Just steady, even determination.

She smiled.

"I was just gonna ask if you wanted your keys back."

"…What?"

"Your keys? To your car?"

Kat reached down to her bag, pulling out the keys to the Charger that was sitting in the parking lot. She jingled them for a moment, and Bobby snatched them out of her hand.

"Why would you have my damn keys?"

"Because I borrowed a car to drive here? How did you think I got back to Illinois?"

"Figured you'd hotwired it like any normal person."

He crossed back to the bed, tossing the keys on the nightstand without much care. Kat hadn't planned on responding, but her silence must have given her away. Bobby turned back around to cast her a curious look.

"You do know how to hotwire a car, don't you?"

"…It's on my to do list."

She would have preferred complete silence, or even a jab at her incompetence. Instead, Bobby had the gall to chuckle.

"You might want to talk to your buddy Marcus about your lesson plan. Won't be hunting much if somebody nicks your car keys."

"You're welcome," she grumbled, and flopped back onto the couch. She rolled over, turning her back on him, and this time it was for good.

Even though she was bruised and battered, Kat had a hard time falling asleep. She supposed part of it was sleeping on a couch two nights in a row. Her muscles were begging for a mattress. Part of it was the fact that she was hyperaware of a stranger's presence in the room. Even when she could hear Bobby's light snoring, it was impossible for her to let her guard down. But mostly, it was the fact that she was so anxious about her own exhaustion. It was like being back in high school—so tired, but so afraid that she might sleep through her own alarm clock that she hardly slept at all. She didn't have an alarm clock at the Astoria Hotel, but if she let herself fall asleep, she might not hear Bobby leave the room. She might not hear it if all three men packed up their belongings and hit to road before she woke up. All the driving and the speeches and the bruises, and Sam Winchester would slip away from her again without any explanation. Kat couldn't risk it.

So she tossed and she turned. It was kind of a production to roll over on the small couch. So long as she didn't wake up her roommate, she didn't mind. Four times she got up to go to the bathroom without having to go, walked a lap around the room, even raided the fridge she already knew was empty. Eventually though, she could feel the long day catching up to her.

It was another reason she hadn't wanted to fall asleep. The arguments she hadn't been able to process while she was awake continued to scream inside her brain from the moment she closed her eyes. Sam and Dean's voices mixed with Bobby's, mixed with Jess's, and phantom fire lapped at the insides of her eyelids.

First Jess was indignant.

 _"How can my big sister even consider letting Sam Winchester off the hook?"_ the shadow of her face seemed to demand. _"I'm dead, Kat! I'm dead, rotting, and gone, and it's Sam's fault! He didn't do a thing to stop it. He didn't tell me the truth, he didn't leave me with any protection. He might not have struck the final blow, but you know that he damned me with his naivety. He wanted a normal life, stuck his head in the sand, and ignored it when reality came knocking. So it doesn't matter what life handed him later. You're my big sister, and I love you. You're supposed to make things right."_

 _"Everything caught up to me and Jess died because of it."_

 _"Boy's heart is bigger than his head most times."_

 _"Excuse me if I don't have time for your pity party."_

 _"At the end of the day, it's the demon that killed your sister."_

 _"I deserve a lot more than that."_

Then Kat would roll over, and the voices became reproachful.

 _"Kat, how could you treat him like that? You think this is going to solve anything? It's not. Revenge will not make you feel any better, and you know it. Sam's been through so much, more than you know. He's barely keeping his life together, and you want to come along with half the pieces and tell him that he's not sorry enough? That he didn't love me enough? I love you, but I loved Sam too. You're not the only one that lost me, Kat."_

 _"I don't think you drove five hundred miles just to punch me a few times."_

 _"I'm sorry, do you know this lunatic?"_

 _"I just got Dean back, and we're still not sure how it happened."_

 _"Join the club sweetheart. Somebody's always dying."_

 _"Fear not, Dean Winchester. I have delivered you from your fate. You are safe. Dean Winchester, you are saved."_

Kat shot up on the couch, the room spinning around her as she struggled to breathe. Her head was pounding, but it didn't feel like her concussion setting it. She could hardly hear anything over her pulse rushing in her ears, and a high pitched hum that she couldn't seem to place. It was a moment before she realized she wasn't alone—Bobby was awake, too. He was sitting up in bed, clutching his ears and clenching his teeth.

Then came the crash, the sudden clink and crunch of shattering glass—a lot of it. Their eyes locked in a moment of shock, a moment of panic, and they both looked up at the ceiling.

"Dean."

The word left her mouth without any processing, and she was on her feet before she'd even noticed what she'd said.

Bobby was first out the door, Kat quick on his heels as they sprinted up the stairwell to the next floor. Everything felt off, almost surreal. The closer they got to the boys' room, the louder and higher the humming got. She could hear Dean screaming, but at the same time the voices from her dream were still echoing inside of her head. She must've still been half asleep.

Bobby went tumbling through the door, and Kat almost collided with him as he skidded to a halt.

"Dean!"

It looked as though a bomb had gone off. The windows had completely blown out, and the curtains were now whipping around in a wind that only just seemed to be stirring. The television was screeching with static, and the radio alarm clock was blaring as well. Almost as soon as they arrived, they had to jump back. One of the large mirrors mounted to the ceiling cracked and plummeted, sending a wave of shards directly at them.

In the middle of it all laid Dean—collapsed on his side in the middle of the destruction. His shotgun had been discarded a few feet away. He was too busy screaming, his hands clamped over his ears. Kat could see the blood seeping between his fingers.

It stopped all at once. The ringing echoed in her ears, but in an instant the building became still—the wind, the voices, the humming. It all vanished, leaving the three of them panting in the aftermath.

There was a minute before any of them moved. Bobby dove into the wreckage and dragged a wincing Dean back onto his feet, and Kat tiptoeing warily behind him. There was an impossible amount of glass on the floor, and she'd rushed out without her boots. It was like shrapnel. The windows hadn't just broken—they'd exploded.

Bobby had an arm around Dean's shoulders, inspecting his head like he had with Kat's black eye. He still seemed to be supporting most of Dean's weight, but he managed to look around the room with almost inconvenienced annoyance.

"The hell was that?"

"If I had to guess," groaned Dean, "I'd say that was Castiel."

"You sure?" asked Bobby. "Same thing as before?"

"Exactly. Down to the damn radio. And where the hell is Sam?"

"I don't know. I thought he was up here with you."

"Yeah, he was. At least when I conked out. I came to when the TV started going haywire, and suddenly he was gone."

"Who's Castiel?"

They both turned to look at her. Judging by their dark expressions, it wasn't a great question to ask.

Dean straightened up, his jaw set.

"I think it's about time we found out."

He turned back to Bobby, and Kat instantly regretted opening her mouth at all. They were having another silent conversation, full of incomprehensible expressions and facial twitches. She knew they didn't want to let on all their secrets. She could understand that she was outsider. But it didn't make it any less annoying when they were doing it in front of her.

"First thing's first," said Bobby, clapping Dean on the shoulder. "Let's get you outta here."

They headed for the door and Kat moved to follow. To her surprise, Bobby shook his head, and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.

"Oh no. You're gonna get all these books and shotguns and bring 'em down to our room."

"What? Why?"

She did not at all appreciate the condescending look he gave her in response.

"Sorry, do you want to be the one paying off the damn security deposit? Cause there ain't a soul in this building that didn't hear that racket, and the last thing we need is the police up our asses because they found a bunch of books on the occult. So hop to it, girlie."

"Yeah," Dean added, glaring as he passed her. "And watch your step, sweetheart."

If he hadn't been bleeding already, Kat would have punched him. Instead, she settled for scowling as they limped past her, mumbling something about how they would meet her in the parking lot.

Kat frowned and began to pick her way through the minefield of glass. There was a duffel that appeared to be most of Sam's clothes, and she squeezed in as many of Bobby's books as she could. Another two bags looked to be full of weapons. Unfortunately, the discarded shotgun wouldn't fit inside with those. That left her with the awkward situation of hustling down the stairwell with a bag of books, two full of salt and knives, and openly carrying a loaded weapon. For the second time that night, she was glad Bobby had chosen the room right next to the exit. At least she didn't have far to go. Curious occupants were already creeping out to investigate the hurricane sounds from the upper level.

She slammed the door to their room behind her. The bags dropped to the floor, and she rested her head against the wood. The world was still spinning a little bit, mostly from the adrenaline, but she was starting to recover.

Kat turned to walk to the couch, hoping to take a breath—but the moment she turned around, her heart collapsed into her stomach.

All of Bobby's bags were gone. The books he'd left on the bed, the knife he'd placed on the nightstand. Her bags were still sitting exactly where she'd left them, her Prius keys placed on top of the cushions, but everything that had been Bobby's—even the ice pack on her pillow—was suddenly gone.

Kat cursed, grabbing her boots and keys and sprinting back into the hallway. She took the stairs two at a time, hurtled into the parking lot less than a minute later, but she knew that it was no use. By the time she'd made it down, the Charger she'd taken from Bobby's house was long gone.

She swore again, whirling around on the spot and kicking a nearby fence. It did not help. The chain link barely wobbled at her force. It only made Kat even more frustrated with herself. All that trouble and grief, and the Winchesters had just slipped away again. No repercussions, no explanations. Nothing. Absolutely motherfucking nothing.

Well, the joke was on them. Because she had prepared for nothing.

Kat leaned back against the fence, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small, beat up flip phone. It was not the perfect plan. In fact, it was as much of a shot in the dark as everything else she'd done since pulling over on the highway. But the same anxiety that had kept her awake had suggested it might be a good idea to life Bobby's cell phone from his bag while he was sleeping.

Most of the contacts were incomprehensible to her, so she took a scroll through the recent call list instead. She dialed a few, getting incorrect voicemails or wrong numbers. It took a few minutes, until finally…

 _"You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?"_

"Come back here and pick me up."

 _"No,"_ said Dean. And he disconnected the call.

Half high on her own rage, Kat smiled. If he thought that was going to stop her—oh boy was she going to show him how wrong he was.

Kat rolled up her sleeved and redialed the number. It rang and rang, until it finally went to voicemail. She hung up. She dialed the number again. It rang. It went to voicemail. She hung up. She dialed the number again. It rang. It went to voicemail. She hung up. She dialed the number again.

This went on for nearly twenty minutes. Honestly, part of her was surprised that he hadn't turned off the phone. Either he was purposely leaving the line open in case his brother had to get through to him, or Sam was just the only one with a brain. She had a feeling it was the latter.

Eventually, she managed to goad him into picking up the phone.

 _"Alright, what the hell do you want? You said your piece, you got in a few punches, you got your car back. So scram."_

"You've got no idea what you're doing, Dean."

 _"Oh, what, and you do? If you'd seen half the things I'd seen maybe you wouldn't have made the dumbass decision to become a hunter."_

"Well, I did. So get back here, and pick me up."

 _"Why? So you can whine some more about how much you hate us? You can't even hotwire a car, let alone take on a grade A level demon."_

Kat felt an overwhelming pang of regret that she hadn't kicked Bobby in the balls too. But that was beside the point.

"You don't even know that it is a demon."

 _"Yeah, all the more reason for you to turn tail and book it."_

"All the more reason for you to want all hands on deck."

 _"All hands on—? Why the hell would I want your hands anywhere near my deck?"_

Kat wrinkled her nose in disgust. The words must have caught up with him, because he spluttered for a moment, and then huffed.

 _"You can't help with this. You'd be about as useful as a pack of cards. And don't pretend that you want to help, cause you don't. You just hate getting ditched."_

"Alright, fine! I hate getting ditched! Now get your fucking ass back here or I'll kick the shit out of you all over again!"

 _"Look, Tinkerbell, I'm sure you've got a load of problems under that bleach job of yours, but as far as I'm concerned, your beef's with Sam. Not me. So if you wanna pretend to lend a hand, stay there and wait for him to get back. Tell him what happened, have your little cryfest, and then you can piss of to wherever the hell you came from. There's your damn closure."_

The line went dead.

Kat considered smashing the phone on the pavement just to make herself feel better. But a moment later, the phone went off again. She nearly tore the phone in half trying to answer the call.

 _"Give Bobby's phone back to Sam when you see him. And stop calling."_

"You know, fuck you, Dean! If I…!"

But the call was already over.

Kat screamed, startling several people who were walking down the street. She hurled the phone through the parking lot with all of her strength, but the damn thing was so old and resilient that it simply slid along with a few scratches. It was infuriating.

The situation didn't leave her with a lot of options. She had no idea where Dean and Bobby were headed, and no way to track them if she did. There wasn't even a certainty that Sam would come back to the motel. If he'd left with his own car, all it would take was one call from Dean and he could skip the building entirely. But Kat had Bobby's phone, and all of the books and weapons the boys had left in their room. One of them would come back eventually, and she'd have to be waiting for them when they did.

Kat was too anxious to go back inside. She wanted some distance from the crime scene that was waiting in room 207, and she had a feeling that if she were presented with the opportunity to trash all of the boys' belongings, she wouldn't be able to resist. It would be safer for her to stay with the car, and be ready to ambush Sam the moment he returned to the hotel.

The Prius was exactly where she'd left it, undisturbed since she'd gotten her bags a few hours ago. She had to rummage through the garbage in the backseat, but down at the bottom she found the bag of gas station snacks she had bought— _fuck_ —it felt like ages ago. All the Gatorade was gone, but there was still half a bag of Doritos. Owning her resignation, Kat grabbed the bag and climbed onto the roof of her car. She crossed her legs, propping the chips between them, and leaned her chin in her hand. She was sure it was going to be a long wait.

The chips were stale, and it was still hotter than she would have liked. Kat watched the lights of the cop cars passing on the street, stopping in front of the hotel as the officers piled out. Probably so that they could evaluate the property damage done on the second floor. Instinctively, she lowered her head, hiding under her curtain of hair and pretending to be on her phone. Because criminals, of course, did not sit on top of their cars playing on their phones.

Over an hour later, a bright set of headlights joined her in the parking lot. Kat couldn't help but raise her eyebrows. She wasn't a mechanic, but she could recognize a nice car when she saw one. It was some kind of classic car—sleek, shiny, and black. The deep rumble of the engine drowned out the quiet city noises, until the engine cut out in the parking spot across from her.

Sam practically had to unfold himself from the driver's seat, ducking out of the car and shaking himself out to his full height. He peered at her in confusion, and glanced back at the cop cars in front of the hotel.

"Kat? What the hell happened?"

"Not sure," she said with a shrug. "I think Dean said something about getting a visit from Castia? Castrate? Castiel? Something like that."

 _"What?"_

Sam's reaction was similar to Bobby's—the wide eyes and slack jaw. He glanced around again, and one hand drifted to the back of his jeans, most likely double checking the readiness of some kind of weapon. He hurried across the lot, crossing the lane in about three strides.

"What happened? Is everyone alright?"

"As far as I know. Windows blew out, TV was going haywire, and Dean was on the floor screaming and bleeding from the ears. Pretty sure he and Bobby ran off to do something stupid."

"What? Why—Why didn't you go with them?"

Kat wished she could have deadpanned, but the indignant, scolding edge in his voice already had her blood boiling. She couldn't seem to widen her eyes into anything more than a glare.

"Yeah, funny enough they weren't really interested in my help. Looks like all Winchesters are good at ditching people. Must run in the family."

Sam sighed, his chin dropping to his chest.

"Kat, I—I get it, alright? But I never meant to ditch you. I never wanted to go back to hunting, but it's like you said. Life had different plans for me. I mean, when I left Stanford, my dad was missing, we were hunting down the demon. And then my dad died, I died, Dean sold his soul. It was just one problem after another and…all I could think about was saving my brother. I know that you, of all people, can get that."

Kat shook her head, her hands balled up into fists on her legs.

"That's fucking low, Sam."

"I know," he said immediately. "And I know I don't deserve any more time to make up for it. But something big is coming after Dean, and it doesn't care about collateral damage. Just today I've seen at least five people with their eyes _literally_ burned out of their skulls. Something's happening and that's what I need to focus on right now. I want to have this talk with you, honestly, but…you just came at a bad time…"

"Really?" Kat laughed dryly. "Is there a good time for your dead girlfriend's sister to show up on your doorstep?"

He smiled briefly, his head ducking down again. He took a deep breath, toying with something for a moment.

"Fiancé."

"…What?"

"Jess. She…well I didn't actually get a chance to ask, but…"

Sam shrugged, and he lifted his head with a sad smile. It was broken, hopeful, full to the brim with regret. It made Kat's stomach fill with bile because at the same time, she could feel her heart breaking for him.

She refused to feel bad for Sam Winchester.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever."

Kat crushed the empty bag of chips between her hands and swung her legs over the side of the car. She landed lightly on the ground, turning away from him and throwing her trash in the back.

"You do you, Sam. It's what you do best. I did get to kick the shit out of you, so I guess that'll hold me over for another three years or so."

"Wait, Kat. Just…hold on."

Sam held up a hand, and ducked into his own car so that he could rummage in the trunk. He emerged with a small notebook, and was already scribbling something down as he jogged over to her. He ripped the page out, pushed into her hand, and held it there. It was easy to guess she was already thinking about throwing it out.

"That's all of our phone numbers—mine, Dean's, Bobby's. If you ever need anything, call. If you need back up, if you need to talk, if you want a second opinion. Any of those numbers…and we'll come."

Kat pursed her lips, but stuck the note into her back pocket. She nodded and, when she was finally able to summon the control, gave him a stiff smile.

"Well I probably won't be calling Dean anytime soon. If he calls me Tinkerbell one more time, I'm not gonna apologize for shooting him."

Sam laughed, and returned her nod.

"I told him to lay off, but uh…that's Dean."

"Yeah. And that's why I hate your brother."

Kat hesitated, scuffing her boot against the pavement. She didn't really know how to exit at this point. It wouldn't make for a grand exit to accept his promise for help and then storm off into the night. But she hadn't forgiven him either. There would be no hugs, no weepy goodbyes. Still, it felt odd just to leave after the whole ordeal.

"I'm gonna go," she said abruptly. "I brought all your bags down to Bobby's room, so…when you need them that's where they'll be."

"Uh…great. Thanks—Thank you."

She nodded, and took another few steps toward the building before he called her again.

"Hey, Kat, I…"

Sam ran a hand through his hair. It was longer than it had been at Stanford. The fringe was gone, and it was parted instead down the middle. Kat wondered if that was what was making him look so much older. That, or the sheer muscle mass he had added since he took to hunting full time. Or maybe it was the dark look in his eyes—the one all hunters got at one point or another.

But then he smiled, and it chased the shadows out of his eyes.

"No matter how things panned out today…it was good to see you."

Kat managed to smirk, raising an eyebrow.

"You're not waiting for me to say it was good to see you too, right?"

"Ah…yeah. Guess not."

"Good. Cause I still hate you. Just…go do your thing and…good luck with your brother, I guess."

"Thanks, Kat."

Before he could say anything else—before he could smile or flash the stupid puppy dog eyes that reminded her of her sister—Kat turned her back on him. For good measure, she raised a hand and flipped him off over her shoulder. He was not going to ruin her exit twice.

The benefit of being left in the dust was that Kat now had a fully paid room to herself. But even lying down on the empty bed, she didn't feel any more comfortable. Snippets of conversations kept bouncing around her head, and even when she could push the voices out, her stomach felt sick with their reminders. She didn't want to be conscious—awake so she could ponder all the choices and feelings she had. But she also didn't want to fall asleep. Jess's likeness might be waiting for her, ready to condemn her for anything and everything she'd thought.

She fidgeted for hours, listening to the other guests walk up and down the halls. The police officers were still interviewing some staff member on the second floor, and if she really strained her ears, she imagined she could hear the clinking of glass as they swept up the debris. All the while, her thoughts clawed at the back of her brain.

Kat snapped. She sat up in bed, leaning over to pick her jeans up off the floor and clawing for her phone on the bedside table. The light of the screen hurt her eyes, and she had to squint as she typed out a message to the unfamiliar number.

 _"Katherine Moore."_

She pressed send, and tossed her phone back onto the side table. Hopefully, Sam would be smart enough not to reply.

Then she stubbornly shoved her face into the pillow. If it came down to it, she would just hold her breath until she knocked herself out.


	5. Chapter 5

**TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains a brief allusion to physical abuse. Please proceed with caution.**

* * *

It wasn't that she wanted him to call her. She'd just figured he would try.

At least, that's what Kat told herself on the drive home to California. Every few minutes she'd catch her eyes drifting to her phone. If she stopped at a gas station, she would casually refresh her texts page or scroll through her calls. But there wasn't anything new.

She wasn't sure why she'd expected anything different. Sam had been radio silent for three years after all. He'd gone through a lot of shit, and one face to face with an angry acquaintance probably wasn't enough to scare him into shaking the habit. Still. She'd hoped…

No. She didn't hope. Yes, if there was a part of her that had wanted Sam to call her back, that part would have felt disappointed. But luckily she did not want Sam to call her back. It had been in a classic moment of 2AM weakness that she'd sent him her number, and most of her compulsive phone checking was to reassure herself that he hadn't texted her, not to check if he had.

Whatever her reasoning might have been, Kat did not receive any message from Sam Winchester on the two-day drive home. The only thing she received was a series of very passive-aggressive texts from her mother. She was infuriated that Kat hadn't bothered to call her and check in again—so infuriated that she decided to very conspicuously not ask about how the hunt was going or when she would be home. All of the messages asked about the neighbors or the gym, or "to please pick up some butter on the way home whenever that might be."

Kat knew she should probably call, but they always fought like this. She simply answered her requests with enough words to prove she was still alive and breathing, and ignored all the unasked questions about her hunt. If her mother wanted to know what she was doing, she could ask. She was the adult, after all.

But of course, there was a price to pay. When Kat finally woke up in her own bed for the first time in a week, it was to find her mother ready and waiting for her in the kitchen of their small apartment. The smile she wore bordered on manic.

"Morning, sweetheart!" she said, glancing back at her as she stood at the stove. "Hope you're hungry. I thought I'd put on a batch of eggs for you. Or I could make it a sandwich, if you want?"

"Morning. And actually, I already ate."

Kat quickly ducked her head into the fridge to avoid her mother's glare. She was afraid she might accidentally laugh.

"You already ate?"

"Yeah. This morning."

"You just woke up."

"No. I just went for a run, grabbed a bagel, and went back to sleep."

She pulled out the smoothie she'd bought a few hours ago and took a few sips as she turned to fill her water bottle at the sink. Her mother countered her as she moved, one hand on her hip.

"Katherine, we talked about this. You know I don't like you pushing yourself when you just got off a hunt."

"I didn't just get off a hunt," said Kat with a small shrug. "I've been driving for the past few days. It's not like I got hurt."

"Mhm. Of course."

"And if—if you want to get really technical, I wasn't… _actually_ hunting the last few days either."

"Oh really?"

It sounded light and conversational, but Kat heard the soft click of the stove turning off. She took refuge in her smoothie.

"Then what were you doing in South Dakota?" Kat head jerked around, eyebrows high, but her mother simply smiled smugly. "I traced the phone number you were calling me from."

"Right. And by 'traced' you mean Googled the area code?"

The smugness faded back to stern disapproval.

"What were you doing, Kat?"

Kat took her time turning off the sink and screwing the cap back onto her water bottle. She picked up her smoothie again, and enjoyed a few more seconds before bracing herself for impact.

"I ran into Sam."

"Sam…?"

"Sam Winchester."

"You—oh! Really?"

Her reaction was about the same as Kat had imagined. Where the mention of Sam had always brought up a tense, sickening feeling of hatred in her stomach, her mother seemed positively elated. She immediately moved the pan of eggs off the stove, and turned to Kat with genuine interest for the first time that morning.

"Really? You saw him? How did you…?" But she stopped. Kat's face must have given her away because in an instant, that kind concern had returned to disapproval. "Oh Katherine, what did you do?"

"Not much. I said hello, told him I hated him, and then I kicked the shit out of him."

"Katherine!"

"And his brother, who—you know—knocked me out and left me handcuffed at his hunting buddy's house."

"What? Why would Dean do that?"

Kat shook her head, and her fury took the shape of smile on her face.

"I can't believe you just remember his brother like that. That's just…unbelievable."

Her mother gave her one of her most frustrating parenting looks—the kind you might give to a child who was still learning how to share their toys. It was partially exasperation, and partially pity.

"I know that you blame them for what happened to…"

"I blame them because they're responsible. End of discussion."

"And you don't think Sam feels the same way? He's had Jess's death on his conscience for three years. Just as long as you've been blaming him for it. And if half the stories you've told me are true, then he's been working hard to make up for it."

Her mother pursed her lips, staring down at the floor. This was normal for most of their conversations, especially when they strayed into supernatural territory. Kat knew her mom hated thinking about what was out there, even if it had already taken too much from them to ignore.

"Did he really kill it?" she asked in a tense voice. "The…The demon?"

Kat nodded.

"Good. Then…that's good enough for me." She shook her shoulders a bit, and dove back into the normality of her morning. She scooped the eggs from the pan onto a plate, and grabbed the smoothie out of Kat's hands with a forced smile. "And for the record, it's only so easy for me to remember their names because you've been so obsessed with them all these years."

"I'm not obsessed with them," Kat grumbled, following her mother over to the table. "I'm just angry. Besides, you've always been in love with Sam."

"He was a sweet boy. Always polite, kind. How did you find him anyway?"

"I didn't. I bumped into his brother on my way home from Ohio."

Kat picked up a stack of envelopes, and busied herself shuffling through the bills. It would probably be best if she left out the part about assaulting Dean on the side of the road and throwing him in her trunk.

"Did you at least get to catch up with them?"

"Not really. They went off on some big bad demon hunt. More important things to worry about."

"Well, did you offer to help?"

"Mom, I kicked them both in the nuts," she scoffed with a pointed look. "They weren't exactly taking volunteers."

"Still." Her mother shrugged, and continued to poke at her eggs with wide, innocent eyes. "I'd feel so much better if I knew you had some back up out there."

"I do have back up. I have you, and I have Marcus."

The name made her mother's nose wrinkle in distaste.

" _Marcus_ does not count as back up. All _Marcus_ does is send you places on your own. It only qualifies as back up if you have someone to help you that doesn't have to drive seven states over when you call them. Now, if you were hunting with Sam…"

"Alright, you know what? I'm not having this conversation."

Kat swiped up the rest of the bills, grabbed her water bottle, and snatched the smoothie out of her mother's hand. She twirled the Prius keys around her finger and threw a careless wave over her shoulder.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Work. Love you."

She did not wait for an answer before slamming the front door.

With the morning's confrontation out of the way, Kat's day began to look up again. It wasn't a long ride, which she was especially thankful for today. She'd done so much driving over the past week that she needed a bit of a break from her Prius. But the drive went quickly, the stereo volume turned high, and the car full of California sunshine.

The parking lot was already pretty full when she arrived. That was always a good sign. Out of habit, she scanned the area for familiar cars and took note of all those she didn't recognize. One hand still gripping her keys, she jogged through the parking lot and into the gym. Her gym.

Kat wasn't sure if she'd ever get over the feeling of walking into a building that she owned. The business had been open for nearly five years now, and every day, her first step into the lobby still made her smile. It was her baby, and every day it was growing up. One glance through the window showed that half the machines were already in use. It was a decent crowd for off peak hours.

"Hi! Welcome to Warrior Wom—oh, hey Kat!" A young brunette girl popped up from behind the counter, smiling brightly. "Welcome home!"

"Well, I would say it's good to be home, Harley, but I know you're making fun of me."

"Who, me?" Harley smirked as Kat walked up to join her at the desk. "It's not making fun of you when we all know you basically live here."

"Fair enough."

"So? How did it go?"

Kat stopped short, looking up in confusion. "How did what go?"

"The conference," said Harley. "Your mom stopped in a few days ago to say that it got extended. Which I didn't even know was a thing. Figured it must have been pretty interesting."

"Oh, right, uh…actually it was kind of boring. Just a bunch of macho guys talking over each other because think they're better than everybody else."

"So the usual?"

"Exactly." Kat winked at her, and swung her bag around to her side. "Although that does remind me—this is for you."

She pulled a large bottle of wine out of her duffel, which Harley accepted immediately with wide eyes and grabby hands.

"Ooh! Thank you! And to what do I owe this tasty pleasure?"

"That's for covering my classes while I was gone. You're the best."

"Seriously, Kat?" Harley cocked her head to the side, and eyed Kat with exasperation. "Not that I want to push my luck, but you know you already give us bonuses for covering classes, right?"

"I know, I know. I just hate when you have to do it for me. So thank you."

"Hey, I'm not complaining," she countered, stowing the bottle somewhere under the front desk. "I'm just glad you got out of here for a couple days. You need a vacation. Like, a real vacation, where you're not working. And a life."

"Just curious," said Kat, narrowing her eyes, "did you want to keep that wine?"

Harley clamped her mouth shut with a bashful smile.

"Pretend I didn't say anything. If you need me, I'll be cleaning the front windows, boss."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

She kept her smile to herself as Harley scurried away with the Windex and a roll of paper towels. If only her employees knew what kind of hobbies she was keeping up with on her days off.

Kat passed the general equipment room and continued down the hall to her office. It wasn't strictly necessary for her to have one, but as Harley pointed out, she did practically live here. It was nice to have a space to call her own that wasn't her bedroom. Here she could actually get some work done, whether it was payments, class rosters, or membership memos. That was where she spent most of her day. It was grunt work, sure—but teaching made it worth every second.

She had taught a bunch of different classes since opening the gym—general fitness, toning, fight classes. It was always fun for her. For the most part, all of her students were women who just wanted to get in shape, to better themselves, to find something new to do or a safe place out of the house. That was the part about teaching Kat liked best. But as the gym got busier, she'd hired more instructors, and let most of her fitness classes go. It gave her more time to focus on the business end, and the classes that were most important to her. Those were her self-defense courses.

It was the reason she had opened the gym in the first place—a women's gym specifically. The students ranged from teens to middle aged women, sometimes older than that, and they were all there for the same reason. Some just stayed for a class or two, and some returned week after week. Fitness classes could be fun and light, but in a defense course, Kat knew that she was really helping people. It was a place where they could help each other. Without fail, every class ended with applause, with women who barely knew each other outside of the classroom exchanging high fives and compliments on their progress. It was one of the things that kept her sane.

"Alright, good work today, ladies!" Kat called over the women at their end of her last class. "Try and remember that for next time. I'm sure I'll see some of you soon, but if not, everyone have a great week."

There was the normal chorus of thank you's and goodbyes, and the crowd of women headed out toward the hall. Kat took a moment to truly appreciate the number of women who'd stopped by. Attendance usually dropped off at the end of the summer, until the post-Thanksgiving season. But their numbers were still going strong. She was unbelievably proud.

"Hey, Olivia, can I talk to you for a sec?"

A blonde teen stopped halfway out the door. She turned back to Kat with a wary look, but reluctantly stepped back into the room. She pulled her gym bag up on her shoulder, positioning it protectively between her body and the open room. Kat offered her a small smile.

"I just wanted to say that you're really making some amazing progress, Olivia. You been practicing?"

Olivia shrugged, not quite meeting Kat's eye, but she straightened up to stand a bit taller.

"Well it's definitely making a difference." Kat pursed her lips, testing the waters. "I know I was gone for a couple of days at the conference. How've you been lately?"

"I've been fine."

Kat raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"

"Yeah." It was a short, solid answer, and despite her body language, her voice was firm. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well I noticed you're breaking out the long sleeved shirts again, for one."

"It's September," Olivia answered without missing a beat. Her hands tightened on the strap of her bag. "It's cold."

"It's California, and you're at the gym," Kat countered.

It was a classic reaction. Olivia's eyes dropped to the mat floor. Her hands tugged at the ends of her sleeves. Her shoulders hunched forward, and her entire frame shrank several inches as she closed in on herself. It was heartbreaking to watch.

"Olivia, you don't have to hide anything," Kat said as gently as she could. "You know we've got group sessions for a reason, right?"

"I don't need therapy."

"Alright. Well first off, in my humble opinion, everyone needs therapy. Life sucks, and you can literally pay someone to let you complain about it, and they _have_ to listen to you. Which I think is pretty awesome."

Olivia did not respond, but she did scoff a bit—a sound that might have been hiding the smallest smile. Kat grinned.

"And second, I'm not saying that you need therapy. But it helps to talk to someone. Maybe not all the time, but at least once or twice. We've all got our stories. So if you've ever got time to stop by my office, maybe we can trade."

Kat held her breath. It was several seconds before Olivia looked up at her, and once she had, Kat was afraid to move too much in case it scared her off. She seemed to be thinking about it, or at least recovering from the shock of being called out. But before she could make up her mind, the silence was broken by an incessant buzzing.

Both of them jumped. Kat's phone was vibrating on top of the stereo, where it had been sitting for the duration of the class. The rattle was deafening, and it seemed twice as annoying as it normally was. In an instant, Kat saw her opportunity with Olivia evaporate. The girl's hand tightened on her bag, and she took a step back toward the door.

"Um, thanks, Kat. But I'm really okay."

"Right. Okay," Kat sighed, pushing a hand through her hair. "Just…think about it, alright? I'm not going anywhere."

Olivia gave a jerky nod, but Kat doubted she'd even registered the words. She was already out the door, down the hallway, and darting out of sight.

Kat clenched her jaw, but the strangled noise of frustration still slipped through her teeth. She marched over to the stereo and snatched up her phone. It was still vibrating, but Kat noticed that she actually had several missed calls, all from the same number. It was familiar—even if she was too stubborn to program it in just yet.

"What?" she asked flatly, once she'd accepted the call.

 _"Kat? Hey, it's—it's Sam."_

"Yeah, I got that. What do you want?"

 _"Well, uh…how are you? I mean, is everything alright? Normal?"_

"Normal?" Kat scoffed, leaning against the wall of the classroom. "Well I'm on the phone with you while I'm at work, so I'm not sure normal is the word I'd use. I gotta admit, I didn't actually think you were gonna call to talk. Guess I was getting used to disappointment."

 _"…um…Kat, I…"_

Kat pursed her lips as Sam stuttered. It was difficult to ignore the sour taste growing in the back of her throat.

"And that's not why you called. Right."

 _"Sorry."_

"It's fine. So then, what could possibly make the great hunter Sam Winchester deign to call little old me?"

She could almost see the way he was turning his head, the way his jaw would be clenching at her words. But whatever he was calling about had to be big—more important than her snide jabs and wounded pride.

 _"We fell into a case when we got back to Bobby's_ ," he explained. _"There's been a lot of spirit activity going on, and it looks like it's been targeting hunters."_

"Okay. And you're telling me this because…?"

 _"I wanted to make sure you were okay."_

He said it so simply, so matter-of-fact, that it threw Kat off guard. She almost forgot that she was furious with him.

Kat cleared her throat.

"Yeah, well I'm fine. Thanks for checking in."

 _"Of course. Just…try and get someplace safe, alright? Be careful."_

"Sam, I'm in California. You're in South Dakota. I know I'm kind of new at this, but I'm pretty sure I'm safe from your ghost buddy."

 _"Kat, it's not just one ghost."_

"…lots of ghosts?" she asked with a frown.

 _"Yeah, supercharged ones. Even Bobby's never seen spirit activity like this. Something's up, and we're not sure how far its reach is. At least a couple states, maybe the whole country. We've been making calls for hours, but…you're the first one I've gotten through to."_

He sighed heavily. There was relief there, mixed in with all the resignation and frustration. The notifications about her missed calls were beginning to make more sense.

"Fine," she sighed. "I'll…lay low or whatever. Let me know when you've got it under control."

 _"Yeah. We will, definitely."_

"And Sam? Don't just…forget to call this time."

Sam let out a shaky laugh. _"I know. I won't. Uh…Thanks, Kat."_

Her lips twitched into a smile, and she immediately ended the call.

Kat slid a hand down her face, physically removing any expression she might have been wearing. The same frustration was creeping in—with Sam, with the situation, with herself. She didn't want to believe anything that he said. She would have been happier denying him and ignoring him at every turn. That was the stubborn part of her. It was the smart, impartial half that won out. Sam might have been an asshole, but he wouldn't lie about something like this. If she thought she knew better than him about unnatural spirit activity and staying safe from ghosts…

Well, if she was that stupid she probably wouldn't have lived this long.

The classroom door swung open, and Kat quickly tried to wipe away any supernatural thoughts that might have been evident in her eyes.

"Hey, do you mind giving me a hand with the vacuum?" Harley asked, popping her head into the room. "It's making that humming noise again. I think it's probably all the hair but I like…don't know how to fix that by myself."

"Oh, you know, I'll—I'll deal with that, Harley," said Kat, waving a hand. "Why don't you just head home for the night?"

"No can do. My _boss_ has this really strict buddy system in place. No-woman-left-behind-after-dark kind of thing."

"Funny. Seriously, go home. I'm staying late tonight anyway."

"No. No way," Harley groaned. "Kat, you cannot stay here again! You just got back!"

"Exactly. I'm behind on my work. I missed a lot on my vacation."

"Your _working_ vacation!"

She looked about to explode, and Kat allowed herself to smile once more.

"Come on. I'll walk you out."

Harley grumbled all the way to the locker room, to the front desk, and then out to the parking lot. Kat waited until she was safely locked in her car, and Harley waited until Kat was safely locked back in the building with the alarm set. Then she waved, and reluctantly pulled out of the parking lot.

Once Harley's car had finally disappeared from sight, Kat grabbed the salt under the front desk and began to line the windows and doors. This was a precautionary measure, of course. As soon as she had discovered the truth about the supernatural, Kat had used some of her emergency money to have a permanent salt line laid in the ground around the building. She'd yet to have any problems, but she couldn't tell if that was because the salt was working or because there just weren't any ghosts. She didn't plan on finding out the hard way.

With the building proofed and ready as she could make it, she returned to her normal business. The vacuum had to be fixed, all the equipment wiped down, the fridge behind the counter restocked. Sweeping, mopping, cleaning the bathroom and mirrors—all the annoying necessities of running a clean business. But just like the paperwork, Kat never really minded the work. She actually hated paperwork and emails more than cleaning. Business required focus. Cleaning she could do while playing music and blocking out all conscious thought. She could close the blinds, ignore the rest of the world, and exist solely inside of the gym.

Which was probably one of the reasons she'd completely forgotten to call her mother and tell her she wasn't planning on coming home.

Kat had missed the first few calls, and by the time she finally called back, she knew to remain silent for the first minute and a half so her mother could rant herself out.

 _"Is it that hard to ask that you check in with me? I don't think so. Especially with everything that you do, everything that's happened to our family, and you don't even think about calling to let me know that you're alive and breathing. For all I know you got in a car accident with a yeti, and I'm sitting at home waiting to have dinner completely oblivious!"_

"Mom," Kat sighed, incapable of maintaining her silence. "There's no yeti."

 _"Right now there isn't! And two years ago there weren't ghosts or demons or werewolves! And now look at us!"_

"Mom, I'm fine. I'm just cleaning the gym. I sent Harley home early."

 _"So you're there alone. Wonderful."_ There was a rush of air over the line as she dropped the phone from her ear to grumble in semi-privacy. When she'd composed herself, she continued, _"Are you planning on coming home?"_

"Not tonight."

 _"Did you…?"_

"The alarm is set, the doors are locked, and I doubled the salt lines. I promise, Mom, I'm fine. I'm sorry for freaking you out."

Her mother sighed, a sign that the brunt of the storm had passed. _"I'd ask you not to do it again, but I feel like I'm fighting a losing battle."_

"Probably," said Kat sheepishly. "Just uh, do me a favor and salt line the apartment too?"

 _"Were you lying about the yeti?"_

"No, but…Sam called. Something about some particularly mean ghosts. I'm sure it's nothing, but he told me to watch my back."

 _"At least someone checks in now and again."_

"Really, Mom?" Kat scoffed. "He forgot to check in for three years. He's not exactly the poster boy for staying in touch."

 _"Well still, that was nice of him to give you a heads up."_

"Yeah. He doesn't want two Moore's deaths on his conscience. A real American hero."

 _"And,"_ she continued as if Kat hadn't spoken, _"I think it's very admirable of you to listen to him, considering how bitter you are."_

"It's not admirable. It's cautious. And if I wasn't cautious, I'd be dead."

 _"Oh well now you're just imitating Marcus. Who called, by the way. The landline."_

Kat froze, her ears perking up. "He called the apartment?"

 _"Yes, so if you could please call him back, that'd be wonderful. I don't like when he calls here."_

The irritation in her voice made Kat smirk, and she pushed down the worry for a moment.

"That's because you don't want to admit that you kinda like him."

 _"I do not like him,"_ her mother replied instantly. _"He taught my daughter about guns and monsters and sends her out on suicide missions all by herself. And he's filthy, to boot."_

"Mhm. Yup."

 _"Don't hum at me in that tone of voice. Just call him, and stop bothering me about it."_

"Alright, Mom. Whatever you say."

 _"Please stay safe,"_ she added, before she could hang up in anger. _"I love you."_

"I love you too, Mom. Talk to you tomorrow."

Kat ended the call, and flipped the phone around in her hand. It was unusual for Marcus to call, even more so for him to call anyone that wasn't Kat. She'd nearly forgotten that he had the number for the apartment in the first place. She'd given it to him years ago, and she wasn't sure if he'd ever called it.

Taking a final look around the dark lobby, she decided to pack up the cleaning supplies and call it a night. She walked back to her office, taking the salt with her so she could add a third defensive line around the perimeter. It wouldn't be the first time she'd slept in her office, as Harley had so kindly pointed out. Most of the staff joked that the only reason Kat started selling Gatorade and protein bars in the lobby was so she'd always have food on hand when she didn't feel like going home. They weren't exactly wrong, though. In an emergency like this, Kat knew she'd be able to hole up for about a week before she so much as thought about asking for supplies.

Twenty minutes later, Kat sat in fresh pajamas behind her desk. She double checked the locks on the windows and door, and propped her iron poker up next to her. She would have preferred salt rounds, but she wasn't about to leave an unregistered gun in her office. Those questions would be tough to answer.

She kicked her feet up on her desk and pulled out her phone, dialing Marcus's familiar number. It took him a few rings to answer, and it was still quiet for a few seconds once he had. But eventually, his scratchy voice came through.

 _"I was wondering when I'd be getting another one of your damn reports."_

"I thought you hated my reports," Kat replied with a laugh.

 _"I do. I also used to hate when my Yorkie would go off barking at four in the morning. But every dog owner knows it's when the dog ain't barking that you have to watch your step."_

"So that why you called? To check up on me? I'm touched."

 _"Well, you know. I send you out on a job, it's always nice to know you didn't kick the bucket on my watch."_

"This is why you shouldn't call the house. I can tell you've been talking to my mom."

 _"Not such a bad thing,"_ Marcus grumbled. _"Your mom's not half bad."_

That was quite the compliment coming from Marcus. Kat nearly gagged.

"Gross."

 _"How'd the job go?"_ he asked gruffly.

"Fine. Ghouls, like you said, and decapitation, like you said."

 _"How many of 'em were there?"_

"Just two, so it wasn't too bad. The way you described them living in families, I was counting on four or five. Honestly, I was kinda bummed."

 _"Don't say stupid shit like that. That's the kinda shit that gets you killed. Let your head get too far up your ass you won't be able to hunt anything that's not possessin' your insides."_

Kat wrinkled her nose at the vivid picture. She was about to snap back at him when another thought struck her.

"Hey, you haven't been on any ghost hunts lately, have you?"

 _"Not recently. Why you ask?"_

"Nothing, nothing, I just…I heard there was some weird ghost activity going on. Something about going after hunters."

 _"Where the hell did you hear that?"_ Marcus asked suspiciously.

"I have my sources."

 _"Oh, you've got sources now, right. My mistake, Kitty. Since when do you have sources?"_

"Since…I found him."

Kat held her breath, but it did nothing to lessen the silence on the other end of the phone. She almost wanted to repeat herself, elaborate, anything just to fill the void. But she knew that she didn't have to. If Marcus needed an explanation, he would have demanded one. His silence told her that he knew exactly who she was referring to, and that he was exactly as pleased as she'd expected him to be.

 _"You found him,"_ he repeated several seconds later. _"Well, good for you. And how'd that turn out? You get your closure?"_

"I kicked the shit out of him if that's what you're asking."

 _"That's not what I'm asking, Kat. Do you have ears? I'm asking you if you got your closure."_

She bit her lip. Closure wasn't exactly what she would have called the endless internal battle she'd been having for the past few days. There was no more blind, confident hatred. Instead, she just had more questions and no explanations.

 _"That's what I thought,"_ scoffed Marcus when she didn't answer. _"I told you. The minute you hopped into my car, I told you—you wanna be a hunter, fine. But you leave your baggage at the door. Hunting is tough enough without ten tons of grudges weighing you down, and the minute you let it get personal is the minute you're dead on the ground."_

"Well I'm not dead, am I? So I must have done something right."

 _"Oh, I'm sorry. You expect me to be proud of you? You tracked down a twenty-something man and attacked him off his guard. Job well done, Kitty."_

"First of all, it was two twenty-something men, and they were both trained hunters," Kat snapped. "So yes, I'm pretty proud I came out on top. And second, I didn't track anyone down. I found him. I was literally just driving down the road, and up walks his brother trying to hitchhike because _apparently_ he just got sprung from Hell. So I took advantage of a bad situation, fought my way out of a pair of handcuffs, and got what I wanted."

 _"What did you just say?"_

"Yeah, handcuffs. I don't know. I knocked him out, he knocked me out, it was…"

 _"No, idiot. Did you just say that Dean Winchester got out of Hell?"_

Kat clamped her mouth shut. That probably wasn't supposed to be public knowledge. Cursing herself in her head, she tried to backpedal.

"Um, yeah. At least that's what they were trying to tell me."

 _"Did you ever think to stop and ask how?"_

"Well…actually they didn't seem to know either."

Marcus's sigh hit the phone like a slap, and Kat knew that if this conversation had been in person, she'd be dodging his blows.

 _"See this is why I don't talk to other people,"_ he growled. _"Because I don't want to get dragged into their stupid, stupid shit. Do yourself a favor, Kat. You stay far away from the Winchesters."_

"What?" Kat asked, taken aback. "I thought they were supposed to be good hunters."

 _"Yeah, they are good hunters—great hunters. That's about the worst kinda thing you can be. I mean, have you been listening to yourself? To anything you've heard about them? Demon deals, Hell, resurrection, and…well, word on the street is that Sam's not what you'd call normal."_

"Normal? What is that supposed to mean?"

 _"I don't know. People have been saying he's taking on a lot more demons these days. More than he should be able to. And there was some guy a year or two back talking some nonsense about superpowers."_

"Superpowers. Right, cause that's real plausible." Kat shook her head. She couldn't imagine the nerd her sister had been dating with any kind of super strength or laser vision. "Besides, I thought you didn't care what other people said."

 _"Care? No. But I listen. You'd be dumb as hell not to. Now powers or not, the Winchesters are all big hunts and bad luck. Everyone knows that. It ain't just your sister that's been caught in the crossfire. A hunt with the Winchesters usually winds up with somebody turning up dead. And dead don't stick to those boys like it does to most."_

Kat sighed. It hadn't escaped her notice. First Sam, then Dean—everyone around the Winchesters seemed to die except the brothers themselves. From what Bobby said, even their father hadn't been able to escape their spiral. But how different was that from most hunters? She'd only been in the business for a year or two, but as far as she had seen, all hunters carried death with them. That's why they were hunters.

 _"Just keep your head down and butt out of it_ ," Marcus pleaded before she could argue. _"I already broke my fridge this week. I don't need you snuffing it too."_

"Please. You just want me to keep breathing so you have a shot with my mom."

 _"Well, yeah. Don't think it does much for my chances if I get her daughter killed, now does it? Kind of…kills the mood."_

Kat smiled grudgingly.

"Fine. But still, can you…? Just keep an eye out for any nasty ghosts. Sam and Dean might be cursed goods, but I don't think they'd lie about something like this. If anything, their track record kind of makes me more worried about it."

 _"I been doing this a lot longer than you have, Kitty. I can take care of myself."_

"I thought saying stupid shit like that got you killed?"

 _"No, it will get_ you _killed. I actually know what I'm doing."_

"Just shut up and try not to die."

 _"Alright, Kitty."_ Marcus chuckled on the other end of the line. _"Thanks for the heads up."_

"Yeah. Anytime."

She would have said more, but Marcus ended the call unceremoniously. It was a habit of his, something she was still getting used to. No endings, no goodbyes, just moving on.

Kat did her best to push the bulk of the conversation out of her mind as she curled up on the floor with her spare blanket. She did her best not to think about Sam or Dean or the ghost that might be stalking the parking lot looking for a way into the building to kill her as she slept.

In the end, her best didn't help that much.


	6. Chapter 6

**TRIGGER WARNING:** **The end of this chapter contains descriptions of gore and body horror. Please proceed with caution.**

* * *

"Absolutely not."

"Come on, Harley. You cover my classes all the time. Let me return the favor."

"You did return the favor, with a wine bribe—which was delicious by the way."

Kat chuckled into her Chinese food, generously provided by Harley since Kat was still on lockdown. The two of them were sitting in her office, enjoying their small break before the final push of the night. The music from the Zumba class could be heard from down the hall, and Kat's door shook slightly with each downbeat.

"Did you already finish it?" asked Kat with a grin.

"No," said Harley with a defensive pout. "Not…all of it."

"Good. You should finish the rest tonight. Take the night off, relax. Go use those bath salts you've been crazy excited about."

"I _will_ do those things, on my day off. Which is not today."

"It is if I say so."

"No, because if I leave, that means that you _won't_ leave." Harley glared at her, brandishing her chopsticks wildly. "And how exactly am I supposed to relax and enjoy my ridiculously expensive English bath salts when I know you're here holed up like Boo Radley?"

"Boo Radley? Really?"

"Quasimodo. Mr. Rochester's secret wife. Sherlock Holmes between cases."

"Alright!" Kat laughed, chucking a balled up napkin at Harley's face. "I get it, I get it. I'm a loser."

Harley relented, waving her off as she stuffed an entire dumpling in her mouth. She struggled to chew it for a moment, then squinted at Kat and added, "You're like the real life 'Yellow Wallpaper.'"

"Yeah, I don't know what that means."

"It's bad. It's very bad."

Harley nodded sagely, and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. Kat pointedly handed her another napkin.

"Look, I appreciate your concern," she said, leaning over the desk to catch Harley's eye. "I do, but…Harley this isn't just a job to me. It's _my_ gym, it's _my_ business, and I worked really hard to get it. I love it here. Even if it means staying late to work out a new schedule or answer emails about membership fees. I spend enough time away from this place at conferences or training sessions as it is. So laugh all you want, but this place _is_ my life. And I enjoy it."

Harley considered her for a moment, and her face finally broke into a smirk.

"You think I don't know that? I just wanted to call you a workaholic." Kat sagged in her chair, making the girl laugh. "Alright, if you want my class that bad, you can have it. But I want pictures next time you go away on some business trip. Photographic evidence that you are enjoying yourself doing something that doesn't have to do with this gym."

"Deal."

Kat smiled as Harley packed up the leftover takeout. There was no way she'd be able to send her a picture from one of her "business trips." She was usually either in the car, a motel room, or a dark alley next to a dead body. Somehow she didn't think a decapitated vampire was the photographic evidence Harley was looking for.

Despite the jokes, Kat was looking forward to being able to go home. She loved the gym and she loved her job, but she wasn't crazy about her office floor.

The problem was, there wasn't currently an end in sight to her house arrest. With a situation this size, she could be leaving tomorrow or she could be stuck there for over a month. Her mother had called a few times asking for an update, but Kat didn't have anything to tell her. Sam still hadn't called.

She was conflicted to say the least. In some moments, curiosity would get the better of her, and she'd get halfway through dialing Sam's number to ask for more details. Then she would hang up, and walk away from her phone. She wasn't going to call him like some annoying kid waiting for the end of a road trip. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours. Besides, if he was in the middle of a situation, calling him could distract him and get someone hurt. She'd seen it happen before, and she didn't plan on making that mistake again.

But by the time the final class let out, when the doors had been locked and the building had been cleaned, Kat had to admit she was getting anxious. Her mother had messaged her two more times, and all the stories she'd ever heard about the Winchester boys were starting a cyclone in her head. Maybe it was a good idea that she call them. If they'd closed the case and forgotten to call her, she could curse them out and then go home. And if they weren't done, at least she could confidently tell her mother that she wasn't hiding out in the gym for nothing.

Again, Kat got halfway through dialing the number when she stopped herself.

This was clearly a big case—dead hunters, multiple ghosts, hundreds of miles worth of victims. Kat had seen good hunters spend weeks on a job just to hunt a run of the mill werewolf. But this was one of those special Winchester cases. How could she expect them to be any closer to a solution than they were twenty-four hours ago? They probably couldn't make it through a quarter of Bobby's library in twenty-four hours. If she called now, she was going to sound _exactly_ like the annoying kid waiting for the end of the road trip. And the last thing she needed was another reason for the Winchesters to think of her like a stupid kid.

But Kat forced herself to type in the rest of the number. She couldn't take waiting in the dark like this. Maybe she could squeeze a few more details out of Sam so she knew what she was dealing with. If she was going to be trapped in her gym, she could least attempt to be useful and look things up. It wouldn't be helping them, per se, but it would ease her boredom and give her mother some peace of mind.

The phone vibrated in her hand, and Kat nearly dropped it in surprise. The number she'd been typing flashed at the top of the screen. Composing herself, she accepted the call.

"Hey, Sam."

 _"Oh, thank God."_ Sam was panting on the other end of the phone, and she could hear the real relief in his words. _"Hi, Kat."_

"Congrats on not dying," she said as casually as she could. "That mean you cleaned it up?"

 _"Yeah, we're good."_ Kat heard a faint crash somewhere in the background, and Sam let out a faint hiss. _"Maybe not clean, but uh…yeah, we're in the clear."_

"Great. Well, thanks for the heads up."

 _"Yeah, yeah—of course. No problem."_

Then came the silence, the part that Kat had not been looking forward to. Even when she wasn't standing face to face with him, she couldn't seem to get a clean goodbye. She wanted to hang up the phone, but her thumb couldn't reach for the end button. After several seconds of torture, she sighed in exasperation.

"So what was it? The ghost problem?"

 _"Oh, uh…well it's kind of hard to explain."_

"Right," she said tersely. "Just another one of those inexplicable Winchester things."

 _"No, Kat, that's not what I…"_

"It's fine, Sam. It's what you guys do. I'm not expecting to stroll in and have you miraculously turn over some honest new leaf. You've got a lot on your plate without explaining it to the rest of us. But just try and remember that your crazy cases don't just affect you. There are other people that get hurt."

 _"I know. Trust me, I…I know."_ His voice was soft and solemn, and he cleared his throat before starting again. _"Honestly, I'm not sure if you're gonna believe me."_

"Well, I've got to clean up the triple salt line I put down so…I've got time."

 _"Okay, well… It was a ritual. Something called the Rising of the Witnesses. All the ghosts were victims of some kind of supernatural death, and because their spirits were forced to rise, they went after the hunters that they felt were responsible for their deaths."_

"Huh. Well I guess that means you boys were busy."

Sam let out a humorless laugh _. "Yeah, you could say that."_

"You said they were forced to rise?" Kat asked, sitting against the edge of her desk. "I've never heard of something that could do that."

 _"Well anyone can raise one ghost. That's not hard. I mean, half the incidents in the country are probably caused by some teenager who got crafty with a spirit board or a lost spell book. Forcing a spirit back to our world is usually what makes them go bad. You know, cause they weren't necessarily vengeful in the first place. But this was, uh…kind of a big deal ritual. All these ghosts at the same time, all over the country. Hell, it might have been the world for all we know."_

"Who would want to do something like that?"

 _"Uh…w-well who wouldn't, right? I mean, any kind of witch or demon with that kind of power would be happier with less hunters on their back. Raise the ghosts, ghosts kill the hunters, and I guess all their lives become a lot easier."_

Kat nodded, folding her arms over her chest. It was sound logic, and in Sam's confident voice, it certainly made sense to her. But it didn't change the way he'd hesitated.

"And the other reason? The one you don't want to tell me?"

He didn't respond immediately. Curious as she was, Kat decided not to push him. She waited it out, and a few seconds later, she was rewarded.

 _"Her name is Lilith."_

"Lilith," Kat repeated, testing the name on her tongue. "Why does that name sound so familiar?"

 _"She's supposed to be the original demon. The first one Lucifer ever created."_

"Is she?"

 _"I don't know. From what I can tell, most demons think of Lucifer as a bedtime story. What we do know is that Lilith is real, and probably the most powerful demon there is. Not to mention the most twisted."_

"Of course." Kat withered, pre-emptively pinching the bridge of her nose. "Why do I have a bad feeling that you're speaking from personal experience?"

Sam's sigh was all the answer she needed.

 _"We've been hunting her for about a year now. After Dean sold his soul, we found out that Lilith was the one who held all the contracts. We figured kill her, kill the deal, but uh…that didn't really work out."_

It took a second for that to process. It took another for Kat to sort through all her responses. A third before her lips pressed into a thin line, and a fourth before she laughed. It was a harsh sound.

"God. I don't even know why I bothered asking."

 _"What is that supposed to mean?"_

"Well shit, Sam! This demon drags your brother to Hell, and then he escapes on her watch without any explanation. What does that sound like? Tell me this isn't some demon's wackass plan to kill your brother and drag him back."

 _"It's not,"_ said Sam, his voice eerily calm. _"But…you're gonna wish it was."_

"I'm sorry," Kat laughed, pushing off of her desk so that she could pace around the room. "Did you just try and tell me that I was gonna _wish_ this was just a plan to kill your brother? That a bunch of hunters all over the country died because your brother pissed someone off? Because I gotta tell you, Sam, I don't really need another reason to be pissed off about your collateral damage!"

Sam took the abuse without complaint. He didn't even try to interrupt her. He waited, and when Kat had finished his answer was simple.

 _"The Rising of the Witnesses isn't just a ritual. It's an omen. Of the Apocalypse."_

"…Excuse me?"

 _"The Apocalypse,"_ Sam repeated, and it might have been the fact that Kat's brain was suddenly reeling, but he sounded more resigned than panicked. _"Four Horsemen, end of days, final judgement. I guess the…terminology's just semantics, really."_

Kat wasn't sure when she'd stopped pacing, but she was now standing frozen in the middle of the room. One hand hovered over the edge of the desk for support, though she didn't feel as though her legs were about to give out. They felt like iron, solid and immovable, keeping her paralyzed just as they kept her upright. She was trying very hard to wrap her head around the words she was hearing, but the word "apocalypse" suddenly seemed too big to be real, to have a concrete definition. It wasn't a word for real sentences. It was for exaggerating and science fiction and bad television shows. Not reality.

She waited, unable to tell if she was holding her breath voluntarily or if her chest was suddenly incapable of movement. But Sam did not laugh or contradict himself. He didn't break, and he didn't explain.

"You're…You're serious about this?" Kat asked shakily.

 _"Trust me. I wish I wasn't."_

"So you're telling me that…this demon forced a bunch of spirits to rise so that she could, quite literally, end the world?"

 _"Yeah, looks like it."_

"Okay." Kat collapsed into her desk chair, eyes still out of focus. "Can she actually do that?"

 _"Well, jury's still out, but…I don't know. With everything that's happened lately, and all the things we've seen the past few years…actually doesn't seem that unlikely."_

"Right. Okay, well then… Good luck with that."

 _"What? Kat—…"_

She ended the call and tossed the phone on her desk. She wanted it away from her—as far away from her as she could manage—as if that would somehow distance her from the conversation that was still lingering in the air. As if it would stop the word from echoing around her head like a concert hall.

 _The Apocalypse. The end of the world. The end of literally everything._

It was all she seemed capable of thinking, even as her body fought to push the thought away. It felt like she was operating on autopilot. Kat couldn't remember getting up out of her chair. She couldn't remember vacuuming up the salt lines she'd laid around the store. She couldn't remember locking the doors, getting in the car, or any part of the drive home. There wasn't any conscious thought until she walked back into her apartment, and stood silently in the living room.

A door opened somewhere down the hallway, and her mother came shuffling into the living room, a salt shaker gripped tightly in one hand.

"Kat? What are you doing home? I thought you were staying at the gym tonight." She came a bit closer, peering up into Kat's blank face with mounting concern. "Are you alright, sweetheart? You look like you've seen a ghost… Well, actually, you usually look a little better when you see a ghost. What's wrong?"

It was like flipping a switch. Kat looked over at her mother, at the innocent concern on her face, and felt her brain click into hyperdrive.

 _The Apocalypse. The end of the world. The end of literally everything._

"I have to go."

"What?"

Her mother gaped as Kat rushed past her, booking it to her room and grabbing the closest duffle bag. She was snatching things blindly—clothes, toiletries, half empty bottles of aspirin. It was instinct rather than plan. That part would come later, once her mind stopped feeling like a teacup carnival ride.

"Katherine, talk to me," her mother begged, standing in the doorway as she rushed around the room. "What's going on? Where are you going?"

"I have to talk to Marcus," Kat answered. She'd only realized once she'd been asked, but it suddenly seemed the most obvious thing in the world. "It's important."

"It's almost one in the morning! Can't you call him?"

"No."

"W-Well, is—is it a case? Did he call you? Did Sam call you?"

"No, it's—I don't know what it is! I just have to talk to him, alright?"

"Kat, please just…"

Her mother reached out, and in a moment of panic, Kat reacted on instinct once more. She smacked her mother's hand out of the air, grabbed her wrist, went to twist the arm. It was only her yelp that made her stop, and Kat quickly stepped back, her arms up in the air.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, Mom, just…"

"No, I know, sweetheart. I'm sorry." Her mother stepped cautiously into the room, holding her arm close to her chest. "You're just scaring me, sweetheart. What's going on?"

Kat stopped her tirade, finally looking at her mother. Her face was soft, alarmed, naïve. The pleading desperation was evident in her eyes—a look, Kat noticed, that never really seemed to go away. She was always running on some desperate hope. The hope that Kat would stop—stop hunting, stop fighting, stop doing things that she couldn't understand. She wore that look every time Kat said she was going to visit Marcus, every time Kat was upset. Because she was hoping for a normal answer. An easy one.

But Kat didn't have an easy answer. It was hard enough on an average day. She'd gotten used to explaining to her mother why she had to drive to Tennessee to save a family from a ghost, or take a trip up to Washington to hunt a werewolf. Because she was helping people. But this…

How was she supposed to look her terrified mother in the eye and tell her that they might be on the brink of the Apocalypse?

"Sam…Sam called," she said quietly, once she could finally force words through the knot in her throat. "They wrapped up the case so…everyone's safe."

"Alright," her mother said, nodding attentively. "Well that's good, isn't it?"

"Yeah, no it's—it's great. But they're still working on some of the particulars. Just some research stuff. I'm going to head over to Marcus's to see if he can lend a hand."

"Okay. I still don't understand why you can't just call him. It's not like he's likely to be asleep."

"Mom." Kat sighed, carding her hands through her hair. "This is just something I have to do in person. Please."

They stared at each other, standing the semidarkness. Neither of them had even thought to turn on the light. But Kat was determined. Her mother could step aside, or her mother could stand in the way. Whichever it was, Kat wasn't going to tell her the truth. Whichever it was, she was going to get into her car and drive to Nevada.

Her mother must have known this too, because it wasn't long before she crossed her arms over her chest in defeat.

"Just call me when you get there. And drive safe, please. It's late, and there are all kinds of idiots on the road at night."

"I know, Mom. I'll be careful."

"I'm serious, Katherine. Call me. And if you don't, I'll coming marching over there just to drag you right back home, and you won't leave this house for a month."

Kat cracked a smile, pulling her bag up over her shoulder. "Now that'd be funny."

Her mother glared, but Kat knew she'd already won.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Mom. I'll call you when I get there."

It was only about eight hours to Marcus's house. Kat realized too late that it would have been more prudent to take a nap before she left. She'd be past the twenty-four-hour mark by the time she got there, and running on four hours of sleep. Thankfully, there was still a considerable amount of adrenaline pumping through her veins. She was zoning, and she would realize later that she barely remembered any of the drive, but the full feeling of exhaustion wasn't setting in just yet.

There weren't many people on the road. Without the traffic, and with her foot impulsively pressing the gas pedal too close to the floor, she made the trip faster than usual. The sun had just come up, the angle of the light making it almost impossible to see the road. Kat had to contort her body in the front seat, trying to find a vantage point where the lanes were visible without blinding herself. It was a relief when she finally pulled up to her destination.

The house was isolated—about as far away from neighbors as it was possible to be while living on the edge of a major American city like Las Vegas. It the early morning hours, the low rumble of activity could just be heard from miles away, quiet enough that it was easy for the practiced mind to block it out.

It wasn't exactly well kept either. Marcus had never cared for aesthetic or appearances, especially since the only visitor he ever had was Katherine. So the house might not have looked like much, but it was sturdy enough to get the job done. And that was about as Marcus as it could get.

Kat crossed the lawn, pounding on the door with as much force as her tired body could muster. He hadn't answered her calls, which meant he was more than likely passed out on the couch with a hangover.

"Marcus! Come on, open up! It's important!"

She banged a few more times, but the stubborn silence continued. Exasperated, she yanked on the door handle. At least he'd remembered to lock it before he'd gone off on another drinking binge.

It was one of Marcus's quirks, something he'd kept from his life before hunting. A lot of hunters never bothered with normal locks—it wasn't going to stop a ghost or a demon after all. But Marcus would always scoff, and return to the deadbolt on the door. Locks wouldn't stop a demon, but they'd stop most humans. And humans were far crazier than most demons ever could be.

Unfortunately for Marcus, it wouldn't be keeping Kat out. She gave up after a couple tries and walked over to the bushes that lined the front windows. Three bushes in, down at the base, she fished around near the roots until she found the small hole that had been carved in the bark. She held the key up in victory, jogging back to the front door to let herself in.

"You told me where the key was, asshole. God, I really hope you're decent! I called ahead!"

The first thing that hit her was the smell. Marcus always seemed to smell of tobacco and stale liquor and gunpowder—anything seedy and undesirable, yet warm. But this was not the right kind of smell. This was much worse.

The shotgun Marcus kept by the door was in her hands in an instant. She checked the barrel for the salt rounds, and prayed that whatever it was, the salt would slow it down.

Kat crept forward, thoughtful feet skipping the floorboards that normally squeaked, making her way from the hallway and into the living room. There was a blanket slung over the back of the couch, a few empty beer bottles, a cracked bottle of vodka, all the usual weapons in their usual places, but no Marcus.

 _Crunch._

Kat picked up her foot, looking down at the broken salt line that bordered the room. Already she could see the signs of a disturbance on the far side of the room. Glass from a shattered picture frame was splayed over the ground, mixed with the amber of broken bottles. Papers in various languages had blown all over the floor, but the windows were still closed tight. The salt trailed out into the opposite hallway, tracked on heavy boots she knew would have been running in the opposite direction.

Kat held her breath. Marcus had thrown some things around in a drunken stupor. He'd stumbled, and knocked over a few fragile items. But when she followed that salt trail he'd be there, barely conscious and grumpy, but breathing nonetheless.

Her grip tightened on the gun.

She picked her way across the living room, following the trail through the hallway. She kept her steps tight to the wall and cleared each room as she went, just the way she'd been taught. Gun first, eyes second. It was getting easier with practice, but she wished she had a smaller gun. The shotgun made her movements clunky, stunted, and if there was a real threat she wasn't confident it wouldn't hear her coming a mile away.

The last door in the hall was already sitting open. Kat hesitated, repositioning her hands on the gun one last time, and then whipped her body around the corner.

Marcus's bedroom was completely wrecked. The curtains were hanging at an odd angle, the blinds broken and smashed against the glass. The floor was covered in clothes and salt and weapons and blood. And sprawled out on the bed was Marcus, just like Kat had hoped. Only she did not have to check if he was breathing. He no longer seemed to have lungs.

His chest cavity had been ripped open and hollowed out. The organs it had once contained were obliterated in pieces around the room, smeared on walls and lying in clumps in the corners. One of his legs was laying at an angle that was excruciating to look at, his pant leg black with drying blood. But Marcus's face was still intact, eyes staring at the ceiling, and deep crow's feet lined with horror and pain.

Kat didn't make it out of the room before she retched. The shotgun fell from her hands and clattered to the floor, and it was only a miracle that kept it from going off. She fell against the doorframe and vomited on the floor, her stomach bile mixing with the blood and gore of Marcus's remains. Just the sight made her vomit again.

After the sickness came the tears. She collapsed on the floor with her back to the bedroom, unable to look back inside. She didn't need to see it. Even if the scene hadn't been burned into her eyelids, the smell alone was enough to keep it at the forefront of her mind. He must have been dead for hours, maybe even a whole day. The Vegas sun hadn't been kind to him, either. But then again, Marcus had always hated the sun anyway.

When it became unbearable, she forced herself to stumble out of the house. She doubled back through the living room and snatched the bottle of vodka off the coffee table.

Vodka had never been her drink of choice. Truth be told, she hadn't been much of a drinker until her sister had died. That was normal, Marcus had always said. Most hunters flirted with the line of alcoholism—something to keep the bad cases out of their heads and the nervous shakes out of their hands. But even when she'd started training with him, she'd never acquired a taste for it. Marcus had always gotten a kick out of trying to bully her into it. She wouldn't be a real hunter, he said, until she drank anything in front of her to make it through the day. Kat had always thought that was a terrible way of thinking. Sure, you'd have to be a little crazy to risk your life to hunt down storybook monsters, but that didn't mean you had to throw all your healthy coping mechanisms out of the window.

But as she leaned against the Prius—choking down the clear liquid even though it hurt like hell, even though it doubled the tears in her eyes and threatened to stop her breath—she wondered if Marcus hadn't been right after all.


	7. Chapter 7

"Earth to Kat. Hello?"

Kat blinked. Harley was staring at her expectantly. It was the third or fourth time this had happened. It might have been more, frankly. Kat wasn't paying attention to the number any more than she was paying attention to the conversation they were supposed to be having.

"Sorry, uh…what was the question?"

"Well," Harley sighed. "Right _now_ the question is are you sure you're alright? We can go over schedule adjustments tomorrow if you want."

"No, I'm fine, really. I'm…"

"Sorry. Yeah, I know."

Harley was trying to sound exasperated, but she couldn't quite sell it. There was too much concern in her eyes. She tried for a few more seconds before she leaned forward tentatively.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," said Kat, leaning back in her chair.

"Does…Does this have anything to do with the family emergency your mom was talking about last week?"

Kat's jaw clenched involuntarily. She reached for the water bottle on her desk so that her hair might fall in her face and hide the reaction. Her long sip bought her just a few seconds.

"Nah, I'm fine. I just didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

It was only half of a lie. Kat hadn't gotten a lot of sleep the previous night, just like she hadn't gotten a lot of sleep for the several nights before that. However, it had everything to do with her so called "family emergency." And she didn't feel fine at all.

It had taken her hours to work up the courage to call her mother after finding Marcus's body. Just the phone call was daunting enough. First she had to convince her mother that she wasn't in any immediate danger, and then she'd had to convince her not to call the cops. Police would mean investigations, and investigations would lead to complications since Marcus's death was the farthest thing from natural causes. Kat knew what she had to do. The hard part was actually doing it.

Her mother had offered to drive out and help, but Kat had firmly refused. She'd carefully omitted any details about the condition of her mentor's body. A scene like that would only make things worse, and the memory would only make her mother's life harder.

So Kat had been left to herself to prepare a hunter's burial. Marcus had outlined everything in excruciating detail, just in case something like this ever happened. Build a pyre, wrap, salt and burn the body.

"And if you ain't sure you got all the pieces," he would add callously, "then you burn down the damn house too. I ain't coming back as anything after I go. Vegas is too damn depressing to stick around for longer than you have to."

She'd always thought it was to scare her, to make her think twice about the life she was stepping into. Or just so he could watch her shake. He had a twisted sense of humor like that. He enjoyed being ominous. But it had to be a joke. Because in what world would something manage to kill Marcus before it killed her?

So she'd downed some more vodka and then turned to preparation. She started by going through all his belongings—journals, books, weapons. Most of it she packed up in the car, anything that might seem suspicious to an average civilian. It was tough work, made worse by the smell of hot flesh that was getting stronger by the second. But Kat's paranoia and reluctance pushed her through. She wouldn't be able to stick around once she lit the fire. Recovery had to come first.

Only when everything had been emptied out of the house, when she'd finished building the lopsided pyre in the yard, when she'd finished off the vodka and passed out for the night on the floor. Only then did she turn to the worst—the body.

Kat couldn't remember most of it. She'd been working so hard in the moment not to think about what she was doing. Her brain was somewhere else entirely as she wrapped the body, heaved it outside, poured gasoline around his corpse and the house. She watched the smoke in her rearview mirror and pretended it was not from her first foray into criminal arson.

She'd already been plagued by nightmares of fire. But now Marcus had joined her family in the flames.

"I don't want to push some weird boss-employee line," said Harley, "but you know I'm here if you ever need to talk about it, right?"

Kat blinked the smoke away, and forced a small smile onto her face.

"I know. And it's not weird. I really appreciate the offer, Harley. But I'm fine."

She doubted if either of them believed that. But because she was a good person, Harley simply gave her a supportive smile. Then they both turned back to their schedules once more.

They were able to work peacefully for another hour or so before Kat's phone broke the silence. She glanced over at the screen, recognizing the number and choosing to ignore the call as usual. She flicked the sound off and let it hum quietly on the table. Harley threw her a curious look.

"Are you gonna answer that?"

"Nope."

"Why? Who is it?"

"Oh, I don't know. Sales, probably. They've been calling me for a while now."

"You know you can just request to be taken off their list, right?"

"Eh, not worth the effort."

Harley nodded and, in a flash, snatched Kat's phone off the desk. Before Kat could grab it back, before she could even open her mouth to yell, she'd accepted the call and held it up to her ear.

"Hi. Could you do me a favor and take my friend's number off your list? I get that you're just trying to do your job, but whatever it is—insurance, cable, mail order brides—we're really not interested in the bullshit you're selling."

There was a beat of silence, and the mischievous smirk on Harley's face slowly melted to a look of horror. She smiled nervously in the face of Kat's death glare.

"Um…right. Please hold." She pulled the phone away, covering the bottom with her hand. "It's not a sales call. It's a guy."

"Hang up."

"No, Kat, it's _a guy_ and he wants to talk _to you."_

"Well, I don't want to talk to him. Hang up."

Harley pouted, and stubbornly plastered her customer service smile onto her face. "Alright! Here she is! Just one second!"

She held the phone out to Kat, who was about halfway through three different plots for murder. But there would be too many witnesses in the gym, and between the phone call and Harley's hounding questions, she knew which one would give her less of a headache.

Kat grabbed the phone with a grimace.

"Hello?"

 _"Hey, Kat,"_ Sam's voice answered. _"Uh…is everything alright?"_

"Yeah, fine. Just an employee who's about two seconds away from getting herself fired. Gimme a sec." Kat got out of her chair and grabbed Harley by the wrist, dragging her to the door and kicking her out into the hallway. She attempted to run back into the room, but Kat slammed the door firmly in her face. "Okay. What did you want?"

 _"Well, I—uh—I just wanted to check in. I…called a couple times."_

Kat bit back a sigh. He had called a couple times, at least five since their last conversation. She'd never been able to bring herself to pick up the phone. She was ready to admit that part of her wanted to talk to him—she wanted her answers, and an even deeper part of her might even have missed him.

But the argument against was too strong to even consider that. She would not let herself get dragged into some monster, Winchester gunfight like the fucking Apocalypse. She was smart enough to keep about a thousand miles' distance from that. And like Marcus had said, everything with the Winchesters turned into some death-ridden drama. He'd told her to stay away from them. It had practically been his dying wish.

"Uh yeah, I'm sorry," said Kat, shaking her head. "Things have just been so busy with the gym and everything…"

 _"And you didn't want to talk to me?"_

"Well…yeah. That too."

There was a lot of noise on the other end of the line, muffled conversations and passing cars, but she was pretty sure Sam had chuckled.

 _"It's alright. I don't blame you. I wouldn't want to be a part of this crazy train either."_

"Then why do you keep calling me?"

 _"Well, I've got some time and…I was wondering if you were ready for that talk."_

Kat blinked. She looked around her office, the sun shining in the windows, the paperwork on her desk. With Sam waiting on the other end, it almost seemed surreal.

"Um…right now?"

 _"Uh, no, I guess. I mean, it doesn't have to be right now. I just figured I'd give you a call anyway since—sorry! Sorry, ma'am."_

There was a series of loud honks, and Sam fumbled to apologize to someone. Kat narrowed her eyes.

"Where are you right now?"

 _"Um…bus station."_

"A bus station?" Kat repeated, nearly laughing. "What happened to your cool car?"

 _"The Impala? Dean has it."_

His voice was serious, and something in the phrasing made Kat stop short. Before she could stop herself, she asked, "Is Dean not with you?"

 _"No, we uh…we had kind of a tough case. I decided to step out for a bit, clear my head."_

"And…you decided to call me?"

 _"Yeah. Guess I'm a glutton for punishment."_

Sam laughed again—the same, sad laugh that Kat was growing used to hearing. It wasn't real. It was bitter.

Kat bit her lip. The argument against was too strong. She would not fall for Sam Winchester and his puppy dog eyes, and his sad wounded voice, and his shotty "I'm fine" attitude. She was smart enough to keep her distance from that.

"Where are you right now?"

 _"Kingman. Dean and I split up in Missouri."_

Kicking herself before she even spoke, Kat screwed up her face.

"Well then I guess I'll pick you up tomorrow. Kingman's only about a nine-hour drive, probably a day if you're taking a bus..."

 _"What? Kat, no, I—I mean, I wouldn't ask you to do that. I wouldn't want to…"_

"Oh no, this is not a conversation you get to have on the phone. We're doing this face to face. That way, I can punch you again."

 _"Less punching would be preferable…"_

"San Jose," Kat said firmly. "Text me when you find out when you're getting in. I'll see you tomorrow."

And she hung up the phone before he could argue.

There was an insistent tapping on the door, and Kat opened it to find Harley waiting on the other side.

"So?" she asked excitedly, practically bouncing in place. "What did he want? Why didn't you want to talk to him? Who is he?"

"My sister's ex-boyfriend."

The smile vanished from Harley's face in less than an instant. It soothed Kat with a twisted feeling of satisfaction.

"Oh my God, Kat, I'm—I'm so sorry. I didn't think that—I mean, I didn't think at all, I…"

Kat held up a hand, waited until she stopped rambling, and then jabbed a finger at her chest.

"You remember that boss-employee line you were talking about? This is it. This is pushing it. So you're closing tonight, and for the rest of the week. Please don't answer my personal phone again. Alright?"

Harley nodded vigorously, and Kat gave her a tight smile. She closed the door again, and leaned heavily against it.

She was furious with herself for giving in. Even if she somehow managed to get her answers from Sam and extract herself without getting involved in anything crazy, there was a bigger problem that loomed on the horizon. She was now going to have to tell her mother that Sam was coming over. That proved to be a goddamn nightmare.

It required, as Kat had guessed, a complete overhaul of their home. Her mother seemed to bend the laws of time in order to do every load of laundry and change every sheet in the apartment. Kat tried to remind her that Sam spent most of his time living out of an old car, so he wouldn't give half a shit what their apartment looked like, but it hadn't mattered much. All it got her was an eviction and an order to go to the grocery store so they would have some good food in the fridge when Sam arrived.

There had nearly been a brawl when Kat left the next day. She refused, outright refused to take her mother with her to the bus station. Yes, she deserved an explanation too, and yes she would be able to talk to Sam. But there were a lot of things that Kat wanted to talk about without her mother fawning over how much Sam had changed in three years.

So it wasn't without a fight that Kat drove down to San Jose alone. She drove around the bus station, trying to keep herself busy while she waited for Sam's final confirmation that he'd arrived—or the inevitable realization that Sam had ditched her again and she'd driven all the way to San Jose for nothing. Whichever came first.

But Sam, it seemed, was on a surprise streak. He texted her as soon as his bus had pulled in, and was waiting for her when she pulled up. He even smiled.

Kat got out of the car by force of habit, then remembered she didn't want to hug him or help with his bags. She settled for leaning on the roof as he jogged over to the car, and pretending that she had only spotted him when he was within ear shot.

"Woah. What happened to your face?"

"What?" Sam touched a hand to his head, which currently had a few band aids haphazardly stuck to his temple. "Oh, I got hit with a…a homemade flamethrower."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Do I want to know?"

"Like I said, it was a rough case. Rougarou."

"Isn't that just French for werewolf?"

"Actually, that's _loup-garou_ ," said Sam. He tossed his bag in the backseat without invitation. "But a lot of the lore got carried over in Cajun mythology."

"What's the difference?"

"Well, werewolves transform once a month and fixate on the heart. Rougarous transform for life in adulthood and fixate on…everything. Just eating human flesh. And you kill them with fire instead of silver."

"Okay…so what's the difference between that and a wendigo?"

"Age, for one thing. Wendigos are hundreds of years old, and they're supposed to become cannibals out of necessity, dire situations of survival. With rougarous it's just…genetic. They can't avoid it."

"But they both gain abilities based on cannibalism and you kill them both with fire?"

Sam stopped, leaning on the roof of the Prius opposite her. He watched her with a weird look on his face, one Kat couldn't place.

"What?" she demanded.

"Nothing, uh… I'm just still getting used to hearing you talk about this. You really know your stuff, don't you?"

"Of course I do," said Kat defensively. "I'm not a Winchester, but I have been doing this for a while now."

"I guess you have." He nodded, and offered her a small smile. "Thanks for picking me up."

Kat rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Just get in the car."

It was an odd feeling, having Sam Winchester in her passenger seat. Kat wasn't used to having anyone in the passenger seat most days, let alone men who exceeded six feet tall. She could tell he was trying hard not to complain. He wouldn't want to push his luck. But even with the seat pushed back all the way, Sam's knees were pressed to the dash.

A tense silence stretched until they hit the highway, at which point, Sam cleared his throat. Kat cut him off.

"Hungry?"

"Uh yeah," Sam said, recovering. "I could eat."

"Okay. We'll pick something up on the way back."

She reached over to the stereo, turning on her music. One of her old No Doubt CD's pumped through the stereo, and she raised the volume. She'd hoped it would discourage Sam from trying to make any conversation, but he simply grinned and chuckled over the music.

"What is it now?" she asked sourly.

"It's just nice to listen to something that's not AC/DC for a change."

Kat narrowed her eyes, not entirely believing him. She pointedly turned up the volume again.

They drove for a few hours, the only sounds the music and Kat's occasional, passive-aggressive mumbling about other drivers on the road. When she pulled over to stop at a deli, she got out without asking what Sam wanted, and locked him in the car. She returned nearly twenty minutes later and tossed a BLT and a water bottle into his lap, ignoring his quiet thanks. She just changed her CD—some girl rocker Sam didn't know—and pulled back onto the road.

Despite how tense and awkward it was, Sam couldn't help but feel comfortable in the car. He'd travelled enough with Dean that angry silences didn't bother him much. He could have laughed at Kat's sharp turns, or the way that she tapped her nails on the steering wheel when she didn't want to sing. But every time he smiled it just seemed to make her angrier. So he kept that particular reaction to himself.

After a while, Sam's memories started to kick in, and the landscape outside the window began to grow familiar. He'd gone to that bar once with Jess the first time he'd met her family. There was a music store around the corner where he'd bought a Metallica CD because he'd been missing Dean. If he remembered right, they weren't too far away from the gym that Kat owned.

He wiped his palms on his jeans, full of bittersweet memories.

The car stopped at a park, and Sam obediently followed Kat down its paths. The park was pretty much abandoned, but Kat led him past endless benches and tables. She seemed to know exactly where she was going.

They stopped at an old picnic table, tucked away in the corner under low-hanging branches. Kat sat down without looking at him, pulling out the sandwich she'd gotten and finally getting a chance to eat it. Sam tried his best to leave her be, but the comfort of the road was gone. He picked absently at the other half of his BLT, no longer hungry.

"So, you said an employee answered the phone yesterday, right?" he asked, testing the waters. "I guess that means you're still running the gym."

"Yup."

"And…how's that going?"

"It's fine. Normal."

"Good! That's…great. Good." He nodded, glancing around at the landscape in the setting sun. "Are you still living in the same place?"

"Nope."

"Oh, cool. Where are you…?"

"Sam, are you going to tell me what happened or not?"

Kat glared down at her sandwich, her lips pressed into a hard line. He sighed, and dropped his eyes to the table.

He'd split with Dean in Missouri, and had slowly been working his way to California. He'd been in his own head for days, working up the courage to call Kat. After watching Jack Montgomery fail to fight his condition, Sam was desperate for some kind of reminder that he was a real person, a good one—something more than the demon blood that was pumping in his veins. But every decision he'd made for the last three years seemed to have something to do with those demons, whether it was the fight with Azazel or fighting to save Dean from the fall out. The last time Sam had felt normal had been at Stanford—with Jess, and with Kat.

He wanted to make things right. He really did. But no matter how many times he ran over the information in his head, he couldn't find a good way to say it. He'd had hours in the car, on the bus ride over, and days before that to think of something. But Sam was still coming up blank.

Kat huffed across from him. She balled up the garbage in front of her, walking away to slam it into a trash can. When she walked back, though, she sat down next to him.

"You weren't the only person investigating her death, you know."

Sam looked over at her—her back leaning on the table, her jaw tight—but Kat just stared ahead of her into space.

"I couldn't figure out why so many people were bothered. It was just a house fire, you know? But for weeks we had people showing up to the house asking questions—FBI, county sheriffs, fire marshals. Even after you left, they just kept coming for follow ups. And they were always asking the same questions—had she been acting normal, did she have any enemies, had we smelled anything inside of the apartment? And every time I asked what was going on, they'd just give some bullshit answer and apologize for our losses. Everyone was so full of crap."

"That's the job, I guess," said Sam, nodding solemnly. "How did you find out the truth? Someone eventually break?"

"Not then," Kat said, shaking her head. "With Jess everything just petered out. No one else was dying, so I guess they all figured it was an isolated incident. I couldn't find anyone who would talk to me until like…seven months later."

"Seven months? What happened?"

"My dad."

Sam's chest tightened in shock. "Kat, I—I had no idea. I'm so…"

"It's fine," she said firmly. "It didn't have anything to do with you. Not really."

"What happened?"

"Life, at first. Dad was always such a man's man about everything. You know, show no emotion, don't cry, be the rock of the family. I guess he had to be, with Mom going out of her mind. And I wasn't any help to anyone, that's for damn sure. Neither of them ever knew what to do with me. So he never really talked about it until one day…it was just like he was a different person. He stopped eating and started drinking. Stopped going to work. Mom said that he couldn't sleep either. He'd just go on long drives and come back looking like hell in the morning.

"I thought it was just normal, you know? Feeling like you've gotta be strong all the time, eventually you're gonna break. But uh…Mom finally got around to talking to him about it, near the end."

"And?"

"…He said he'd been talking to Jess."

Sam's blood ran cold. "She wasn't…"

"No, no," said Kat, and though she laughed dryly, her voice threatened to break. "Wasn't a ghost. But he'd drive around the woods by campus and talk to her. Mom said it probably just made him feel close to her, but uh…well, then Jess started asking him to bring Mom and I around. Mom and Dad had this big argument about it, how it wasn't a good coping mechanism. But Dad was pretty far gone at that point. He just kept saying that she wanted us to come to her."

"A crocotta," Sam sighed, and she nodded.

He'd only dealt with one in person, a case with Dean almost a year ago. They were soul-eaters—any souls they could get in practice, but especially those who were steeped in grief. They mimicked the voices of loved ones, sometimes driving their victims to insanity or suicide. Then they would devour them, eating the soul and leaving the body to rot.

"How did he…? I mean, did he just walk out?"

Kat didn't answer immediately. She was staring at the horizon line, her lips set into a frown. It seemed to be her new default.

"I woke up one night," she said finally, just loud enough for Sam to hear her, "and everything was so hot. Like one of those summer nights when—when the fan's not working and you feel like you can't even breathe. And it took me a couple minutes to realize that it wasn't just the heat, it was…the smell…the smoke. I went downstairs and…Mom was just pulling at him, trying to get him out of the living room. But he wouldn't move. Eventually the fire got so bad that we had to leave him there. He just kept saying he wanted to be with Jess."

Neither of them spoke. Sam knew that if he looked into Kat's eyes, he'd be able to see the memory playing back inside of her head. But he knew that heat, the smell, the smoke. And if he let his eyes close for more than an instant, he knew he would see Jessica's terrified face staring back at him from the ceiling.

Kat ran her hands down her face, shaking out her arms and pulling her hair over her shoulder.

"In the end, Dad wasn't the only one. There was some girl a couple of streets over—her best friend had committed suicide a couple of years before. And one of the cashiers at the supermarket crushed himself under a shelf on the closing shift. Eventually, there were enough red flags to make it a case, and that's how I met Marcus.

"He came by asking questions about my dad, and I recognized him as one of the guys who'd been investigating Jess. So I tailed him around town and got in the way a couple times, like an idiot, and uh…he brought me in on it."

A laugh squeezed its way from Sam's tight throat. "He just brought some newbie in on the case? That…sounds like an awful idea."

"Well it's not like I gave him a choice," Kat said with a shrug. "I gave him a beat down trying to prove that I could handle myself, nearly broke his hand, and he decided it'd be less work to let me tag along then let me run around on my own. Same reason he let me come with him when it was all over. He said he didn't want the death of some dumbass kid on his conscience."

"So you went with him?" He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice, and for the first time since they'd left San Jose, she looked at him. "Sorry, I just…It's hard for me to imagine you hopping in a car with a guy you'd only known for a week. Especially when you knew what was in the trunk."

"It was a weird week," Kat conceded. "A weird month—year, really. I was just so tired of sitting at home doing nothing. I hated being at home. I hated being at the gym. I just wanted to be somewhere that didn't remind me of Jess. So…I left."

"Right after your house burned down," said Sam lightly. "Bet your mom was really happy about that."

"I helped her move into the apartment. But yeah, we had a big blow out fight about it. I don't know how vividly you remember how neurotic she is."

"You'd just lost your dad," he pointed out. "I don't think you can blame her for that."

"No," Kat agreed. "But she's always wanted to control what I was doing with my life. I told her hunting wasn't any different from wanting to be a cop or something. I would be helping people, actually doing something instead of sitting on my ass moping. I think that's the only reason she let me go. It was my way of finally coping and...after Jess died I never did."

"And that's what you call hunting?" Sam asked with a frown. "Coping?"

"Yeah, I guess," she said, and he didn't love the light tone of her voice. "It keeps me sane, at least. I can't imagine sitting in an office doing paperwork when I know what's out there. Girls like Jess are dying every day."

"Those girls aren't your problem."

"Oh, but they're yours?"

"Kat, I've been doing this my whole life," Sam argued. "I never knew any different. There are enough hunters in the world. But you had a normal life. You didn't have to give that up."

"I didn't give it up," Kat scoffed, and wrapped her arms over her chest. "I'm here, aren't I? I have my own business, my own car, apartment. I pay my goddamn taxes."

"And what happens when you're away? What happens when you don't come home one night?"

"Then my mom runs the gym, and I died doing something worth doing," she snapped. "But until then, I'm doing just fine. Thanks."

"Kat," he sighed, "you have to know this isn't gonna last."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you can't have both, alright? I tried that. And I don't need to tell you how that turned out."

"Well I shouldn't need to tell you that I'm not _you_. The people I care about know what I'm doing, because I told them the damn truth. Because I didn't lie about it, paint a target on their back and then leave them defenseless."

"Everyone is defenseless at some point," he said evenly. "You can't protect everyone all of the time. If it's not someone you care about directly, it's gonna be someone else. And I know you don't want that either."

Kat glared at him, looking about ready to burst. Instead she huffed, turning away from him.

"God, you sound like Marcus. Always on my back about how 'hunters don't have day jobs' and 'if you want to hunt, fine, but if you want normal you better hang up that shotgun.' Well he has a house, a bunch of houses! And Bobby has a house, and a business, and everything, so why the hell should it be any different for me?"

"Because they're old. They lived life, and they know what they're doing. You're young. You've got…"

"If you say 'the rest of my life ahead of me' I will go right back to the plan to kick your ass."

"Another quote from Marcus?" asked Sam. Kat rolled her eyes, and he smirked. "Sounds like he's a smart guy. You're lucky to have him."

She stopped at that—shoulders tense, mouth glued shut. He didn't need to be a genius to know something was bothering her. But whatever it was, she kept to herself.

"Whatever. I didn't drive to San Jose so that you could bitch about my life choices. I spilled my guts, now it's your turn. Talk."

"I know," Sam sighed. "I just…I don't even know where to start."

"How about the part where you stopped answering my calls and changed your number?" Sam gave her a withering look, but she simply shrugged. "Just a suggestion."

Sam got up, copying Kat's earlier movements and throwing the rest of his sandwich in the trash. He dragged his feet, buying himself time. But eventually came to sit next to Kat again, back to the table.

"Alright, uh…how much do you already know?"

"Why?" she challenged. "So you can figure out what you're gonna leave out?"

"No. So I can figure out what I don't have to explain."

Kat ruffled, but gave in.

"I know about the yellow-eyed demon—that he killed Jess, and then you killed him. I know that your family was mixed up with him before Jess for whatever reason, and that your Dad had been hunting him for a few years. Some point along the road, your dad died. Then you died, and Dean sold his soul to get you back. Dean went to hell, Dean popped back up, and here we are."

"And that's everything?"

"I mean, yeah, except…"

She paused, glancing at him and then quickly looking away, as if the very sight of him might bruise her.

"Except what?" Sam pressed.

"It's stupid…"

"Kat, my whole family has died and come back from the dead at least once. It's probably not as stupid as it sounds."

He'd meant it as a joke, but the words seemed to make her even more concerned.

"Marcus said there was this guy," she admitted carefully, "some hunter a year or two ago that was telling people you had…I don't know. Some kind of special powers."

Kat looked over at him again, and he almost had to look away. Her eyes were imploring him to laugh, to tell her how ludicrous that was and save her from reevaluating her life again so soon. It made his heart sink a few inches in his chest. He hadn't expected her to know anything about Gordon. That complicated things—a lot.

When he didn't answer, Kat's eyes widened. For the first time, she was an open book of emotions—confusion, pity, exasperation, and the worst thing that Sam could have seen there. Fear.

"It's a really long story," Sam said nervously.

The expression vanished. Kat nodded at him, and pulled her legs up on the bench beneath her. "Then I guess it's a good thing I made time for it."

And so, Sam started to talk. He talked about the deal yellow-eyes had made with his mother, the night that he'd come to collect and Mary had died in the fire. He talked about John and his obsession with hunting the demon, how he'd gone missing just before Jessica had died. He talked about his visions, and about the Colt, and even about the other special children that Azazel had fostered before they'd killed him. Then there was dying, finding out about Dean's deal, trying to save him and coming head to head with Lilith. He even explained about Castiel, the angel that had apparently saved his brother from Hell to stop the Apocalypse. All in all, it was a longer story than he'd even guessed.

He hadn't planned on telling her as much as he did. It was meant to be a recap, just enough to bring her up to speed. But once Sam started talking, he found it hard to stop. He'd never been allowed to speak so freely and openly. He'd never been allowed to tell anyone the whole story. He'd never told Jess for fear of rejection, and he'd never told another hunter for fear of being targeted or misunderstood—or worse, making them a target. The only person who knew almost everything he'd been through was Dean, and he had been there every step of the way. There was nothing to share. Even if there had been, Dean liked talking as much as he liked the dentist.

To his surprise, Kat turned out to be a good listener. The last few times he'd seen her, she seemed to take pride in cutting him off and filling in the ends of his sentences. But today there were no harsh comments, no questions or clarifications. Kat barely looked at him, only nodding or humming occasionally to prove she was still following along. There weren't words for how much he appreciated it. It made it easier to get everything out.

He didn't tell Kat everything of course. Certain details were glossed over—namely his lingering demon blood and the abilities it gave him. Just the thought of a demon bleeding into a baby's mouth had made Kat gag and shiver with horror. There was no need to trouble her with the reality of how much blood was in his veins, or all the things he could do if he tried. Besides, that was in the past for him.

If there was one thing the rougarou case had made clear for him, it was that he didn't want to take the chance of ending up like Jack Montgomery. He wouldn't risk losing control and becoming the monster that Dean and the angels thought he might be. He didn't want to be someone that people like Kat had to fear.

By the time Sam was done, the moon was shining overhead. Kat had held up her hand, asking for a moment to process all the information he'd given her. Her skin looked violet in the late light, her hair nearly white. Sam watched her as she stared into space. She would nod vaguely to herself every now and then, or toss her head back and forth and squint. But after a few minutes she stopped, turning back and simply staring at him. It was unnerving.

"So," he said, voice hoarse from overuse. "Do you believe me?"

"I don't know. On the one hand, it sounds like you've been on acid for the past three years, but…it's a pretty fucked up story to give yourself if you were gonna lie."

"Yeah. Not exactly the story I would have chosen."

He wasn't sure what he was waiting for as Kat stared out over the dark park. Now that he was here, now that everything was out in the open, it seemed stupid to expect her forgiveness. No matter what had happened to her, he'd abandoned her, and that wasn't something she should have to forgive. But whatever her reaction was, just telling her about it all, knowing that someone out there knew the truth, made him feel better.

"It's getting late," she said finally. "We should probably head out."

Sam nodded, resisting the urge to help her to her feet. He followed her back to the car, and only paused when a thought occurred to him.

"Hey, do you know where the closest motel is? I don't remember one being nearby."

"You're not staying at a motel. You're staying with us." She glanced up at his silence, and smirked at his horrified expression. "Don't look like that. Mom's actually excited to see you."

"She is?"

He didn't bother masking his surprise. He hadn't spoken to anyone in Jess's family since he'd left Stanford. And now, they knew the truth about Jessica's death. Kat had been less than pleased when she'd seen him, and he had the bruises to prove it. He couldn't imagine her mother being any less upset.

"Search me," Kat said with a shrug. "But she's been cleaning all day, so you're not ditching me on this one. If I don't bring you back she's gonna think it was my fault. She'd probably kick me out and give you my bed."

"Kat, I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I know you're not crazy about me being here."

"Not my call," she replied, without looking at him. "Hop in."

Sam winced at the bitterness in her voice, but did as he was told.

The ride to the apartment was a fraction of the drive from San Jose, but it was infinitely worse for Sam. He'd been prepared for Kat's wrath when he stepped off the bus. He had not counted on facing Jessica's mother. Even with Kat's reassurance, that wasn't something he was looking forward to.

He dragged his feet through the parking lot, up the stairs, and all the way up to the door to the apartment. But the instant the door opened, his fear evaporated.

"Sam, hi! Hello!" Mrs. Moore practically jumped off the couch, hurrying over to him with a smile on her face. She pulled him into a hug, then held him back at arm's length. "Oh! What happened to your head?"

"Thanks, Mrs. Moore. Just a…a tough day."

"A tough hunt, you mean." Her expression soured to one of disapproval, and she tutted as she inspected the bandages. "I don't know what you're all thinking running around out there. Well, we'll get you fixed up. I might not be a nurse anymore, but I've still got my touch."

"You really don't have to, Mrs. Moore. It's fine."

"Nonsense. I'll be the judge of that." She smiled at him again, cupping his face with both of her hands. "It's good to see you, Sam."

"Yeah," Sam laughed, feeling rather awkward. "It's good to see you too."

There was a snort from down the hall and Kat tossed her bag onto the floor.

"Well that's about as much of this interaction as I can stomach. I'm going to bed. Night."

"Katherine," her mother scolded, but Kat stormed off down the hallway.

"It's okay," Sam assured her with a gentle smile. "It's been a long day."

"Still…" She let out a quiet hiss as she looked after her daughter. Then she shook her head, almost violently, and turned her smile back to Sam. "You're right. I'm sorry. You must be exhausted. I've got the couch all fixed up for you so, just go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back."

Mrs. Moore scurried away again. Sam couldn't help but laugh in relief. He was glad she wasn't angry with him, of course. He didn't have the energy to dodge anymore punches. But her smothering kindness was almost worse. That was something he'd never had to handle.

He sat down timidly, uncomfortable in his skin. The couch was too small, and he knew that in a few hours, he'd probably move the blankets to the floor. He'd be more comfortable there, but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep.

Sam's eyes travelled the room, looking over keepsakes and picture frames. He took one from the coffee table—a double frame he remembered holding in a different life. They were yearbook pictures, printed in simple black and white. Kat's was on the right, her smile forced to the trained eye, but still selling her happiness. And on the left was Jessica. Her smile was genuine. It always had been. You could tell from her squinting eyes, the angle of her eyebrows. Whenever she was excited, it had rolled off of her in waves so strong, she could pull anyone into her tide. Everything about her was infectious. Even looking at a picture almost a decade old, Sam found himself smiling. And it hurt.

This, he knew, was the reason Kat had agreed to let him stay. It was the perfect revenge. In a motel, he could explain his story and then forget where he was. But here, with Jess's face at every turn, he would never be able to sleep.

There was a shuffle down the hall, and Sam quickly put the picture frame back in its place. He wiped his face, and was composed and smiling by the time Mrs. Moore came back into the room. She was carrying an oversized first aid kit, nearly the size of a suitcase. Sam's eyes widened as she popped it open. The woman had enough medical equipment to perform a sterile surgery from the comfort of her living room.

"I know it's a bit much," she said, catching his expression. "But I never know what Kat's going to look like when she gets home. I'd rather be safe than sorry."

"No, absolutely. Of course."

"You have a first aid kit, don't you?" she asked with a probing look. "You're being careful?"

Sam thought guiltily of the so-called first aid kit in the Impala. It was a stolen purse stuffed with some ace bandages, floss and sewing needles. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd used rubbing alcohol instead of whiskey.

"Uh yeah, we're careful."

"Good. I don't need to worry about anyone else out there on the road." She peeled the band aids off of his head, tutting again as she grabbed her rubbing alcohol. "How have you been? And your brother? Dean?"

"Yeah, we're good. We're really good."

He winced as she poked at his forehead—not from the sting, but from the lie. The memory of Dean's face was still fresh, his fury as they'd stood in the abandoned shed with Ruby. Sam stood by his actions, but it didn't make fighting with his brother any easier. 'Good' wasn't a fantastic word for anything in his life at the moment.

Mrs. Moore immediately apologized for hurting him, pulling back and capping the alcohol. She moved carefully as she applied clean bandages, finally handing him an ice pack from her bag. He thanked her quietly, but her gaze never left his face. She patted him on the knee.

"You can't take it personally," she offered with a sad smile. "Katherine, I mean."

"It is personal," he said simply. "But she's right. I made a lot of mistakes when I was with Jess. I lied, I left my guard down, and that's…well, I shouldn't have. And then I left without explaining or apologizing or trying to keep you safe. That's not what Jess would have wanted."

"Sam, all Jess wanted was for you to be happy and safe." She must have caught Sam's bitter smirk, because she continued, "You've done the best you could with what life gave you. And you killed it, didn't you?"

Sam swallowed thickly, and nodded.

"Then stop torturing yourself for it. What's done is done. You paid your penance."

"But Kat…"

"Don't worry about Kat. She'll get there in her own time."

"Seriously?" said Sam, incredulous. "Are we talking about the same Kat?"

"Sweetheart." Mrs. Moore's smile was indulgent. "You don't really think that Kat would have driven all the way to San Jose to pick you up if some part of her hadn't forgiven you? That she would have answered the phone, or listened to you about those ghosts? _My_ stubborn daughter?"

He let out a breath of laughter, and Mrs. Moore gently elbowed him in the ribs.

"Kat can be so stubborn, I doubt she even knows that she's forgiven you. But I know my daughter. She's bitter and hurt, but she's not angry. I think more than anything, she's just lonely. She always has been, but ever since Marcus died…"

"What?"

His head snapped up, fast enough that Mrs. Moore jumped. "Oh, Marcus is her mentor. He…"

"No, I know, I uh…I just didn't know that he died. Kat didn't mention it."

"It doesn't surprise me," she sighed. "It was only last week. She won't tell me much. I don't know if she thinks she's protecting me or if she's just used to keeping to herself. But I hate to think of her dealing with that all alone. I mean, burning a man's body…"

"Do you know what happened?"

"I think it must have been those ghosts you warned us about. She ran out like a scared rabbit the moment you gave her the all clear."

Sam bit back a groan. The Witnesses. No wonder she hadn't wanted to talk about it. It had been days, and Sam could still see some of the bodies the ghosts had torn apart. If one of them had gotten Marcus—right after he'd dropped the Apocalypse bomb—it wasn't hard to understand why Kat had suddenly stopped answering his calls.

He frowned, and Mrs. Moore scoffed at him.

"Oh, please, Sam. You can't possibly blame yourself for that. Your call was the only reason that Kat was able to warn Marcus at all."

"Yeah, but…I wish I could have done something more to help."

"I know you do. That's how I know you're a good person." She hesitated, but took one of Sam's hands and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You have a good heart, Sam. And you use it to help so many people who will never get a chance to thank you. I miss my daughter, I do. But life is too short to put my grief in front of other people's safety. You push through all the turmoil and pain, and you save other women from losing their daughters. So _thank you_."

He didn't cry. It had been a few months since he had cried—not since he'd been at his lowest after losing Dean. But he could feel his throat closing up, and the sting in the roof of his mouth. It was enough to make him clench his jaw.

"Oh, look at me," Mrs. Moore said quickly, waving her hands in the air wildly. "Getting sappy cause it's so late. Just ignore me. You must be exhausted. We'll talk more in the morning."

She hurried off the couch, and had almost made it to the hallway before Sam recovered his voice.

"Mrs. Moore. Uh…thank you. For everything."

She paused, and looked back at him with mock scorn. "That's enough of that, Sam. You know my policy."

"Ha, um…sorry, Grace."

"That's more like it. Get some rest, Sam."

"Just—Just one more thing," he said, a thought occurring to him. "Does Kat still go on her run in the morning? Like she used to?"

Grace beamed.

"Yes. Exactly like she used to."

She gave him a nod, and walked away to her own room.

Sam laid down on the couch, his back to the cushions and both of his feet on the floor. He had been right in guessing that there was not enough room for his body, but somehow, he was more comfortable than he'd expected to be. His head lolled to the side, looking again at the frame that sat on the coffee table. He smiled, and for a moment, it didn't even hurt.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he had to contort his body to retrieve it. His heart jolted, hoping it might be Dean, but…no. He knew that number. He knew it by heart. And he hadn't dared to save it in his phone, just in case someday it was Dean who picked up, or Bobby. That number didn't need a name.

Sam hesitated. He declined the call.

He didn't need Ruby. He didn't need his powers. He was a good person.

He was a good person.


	8. Chapter 8

**TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains brief mentions of physical assault, in the context of a self defense class. Please proceed with caution.**

* * *

Sam was up early the next morning, though for once, he wasn't the first. Kat had already left on her run, which Sam knew would take her at least an hour, more if she was in a bad mood. Considering the way life had been treating her lately, and all the things he'd told her the night before, he was willing to bet it would be more.

He got up and dressed quietly, hoping not to disturb Mrs. Moore in her room. He wanted to be ready to face Kat when she came home. He was going to apologize for the way he'd criticized her, and hopefully get more of her story since he'd rambled on and on for hours the night before. It wouldn't make up for everything he had done, but his conversation with Grace had reminded him that wasn't what life was supposed to be about. He just had to do his best to make things right and move forward.

Not that he had the best track record. But he was going to try anyway.

Sam sat patiently on the couch, laptop propped open in front of him as he casually scrolled through the news for potential cases. One eye was always on the time. But even as it ticked later and later, the front door didn't open.

A door closed down the hall, and Mrs. Moore shuffled into the hallway. The moment she saw him, her bleary eyes turned to pity.

"She didn't come home?"

"No," Sam sighed, glancing at the door once more. "She didn't come home."

"I'm sorry, Sam. Honestly, she does this a lot. If she's got a lot on her mind she'll drive straight to the gym and just do her run down there. She hates being home, even when things are normal."

There was a weak reassurance there, something like "you can't take it personally." But this time Sam didn't bother fighting her. He just put on a brave smile.

"It's fine, Grace. I should probably be heading out anyway."

"You're leaving? Already?"

"Yeah, it's probably better this way. I haven't called Dean in a while, and I don't want to get in the way."

He moved to get off the couch, but she was in front of him in an instant.

"Oh no you don't, Sam Winchester. How the hell do you think you got yourself into this mess in the first place?"

The sympathy was gone as she stared down at him. All the fury he'd expected to see the night before was suddenly boring into him, so much that he stuttered.

"I—uh—S-Sorry?"

"Katherine," she repeated tersely. "She tracks you for hundreds of miles for walking out without saying goodbye, and now you're just going to leave? Walk out? _Without saying goodbye?"_

"Mrs. Moore, I—Grace—Kat obviously doesn't want me here. She doesn't _like_ seeing me. And I don't want to push. It's like you said, right? She'll decide on her own."

"No, no, no! I said she needs time. That does _not_ mean you waltz around making the same mistakes until she miraculously decides you're worth forgiving!" She jabbed him in the chest, which hurt more than he anticipated. "You are not leaving, Samuel. If Kat's not coming home, you're either going to wait here until she has no choice but to face you, or you are going to go to her and ask her to listen. You do not give up and walk away after one conversation. Honestly."

Grace brandished a finger at him, and he flinched instinctively. She nodded in satisfaction, storming away and muttering darkly under her breath. The family resemblance had never seemed quite so clear.

That was how he'd come to be in the parking lot of Warrior Women—the defense gym that Kat had opened on her own. He'd only visited a few times, always accompanied by Jess. Back then, it had been a small place, still gaining its traction. Kat hadn't had the money for fancy equipment or high paid instructors. She worked hard with what she had. From the looks of it, it had paid off.

Where there had once been a barren waiting room with a second hand desk and hand painted walls, there was now the lobby of a functional business. A full counter had been built into the wall, covered in promotional pamphlets, schedules, and membership information. There were couches and advertisements and signs towards the locker rooms. The room was empty at the moment, but only because everyone seemed to be at work. A window on the far wall allowed a small peek into a general fitness room—stocked with mats and treadmills and all other kinds of equipment. He scanned the crowd of women in the room, but couldn't spot Kat.

A distant bass line echoed from down the hall, drawing Sam farther into the building. Aside from the fitness room, there were several smaller classrooms, fitted for group sessions throughout the day. Most weren't in use, but he stopped outside one of the glass doors when he heard a familiar voice.

Kat was jumping up and down in front of the group, twirling a pair of drumsticks in her hands and yelling to make herself heard over the music. It must be nearing the end of the class. Her face was red, her hair in disarray—but she was in her element. She beamed as she called out different moves, exaggerated her movements as she urged her students into following along. She would weave between them, correcting their stance or offering them encouragement. She clapped the drumsticks to the beat, and jogged back up to the front.

Sam grinned, watching her work.

"Can I help you?"

A sharp voice made him turn away. A small brunette girl was watching him suspiciously, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Excuse me?"

"Well you're obviously not here for a membership," she asked, gesturing to his body. "If you're waiting to pick up, you'll have to stay in the lobby until class lets out."

"Oh, sorry. I was just, uh…looking for Kat."

She stared at him for a few more seconds, until a thought dawned on her face—part recognition, and part horror.

"Oh my God. _You're_ the guy from the phone?"

Sam laughed, but before he could reply, the music cut off inside of the room. Kat was thanking everyone for coming, and there was polite yet scattered applause. Then, he heard the whispering.

He glanced through the glass door again, only to find that everyone in the room was suddenly staring at him. He locked eyes with Kat. If he'd thought she might be upset that he stopped by, he was wrong. She was livid.

Kat was across the room in a flash, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him down the hallway and out of sight. She shoved him through a door into an office. Slamming the door, she rounded on him in all her fury.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?"

"Sorry! I just thought I'd stop by, and—and see how the place was doing. See you in action."

"God," she scoffed, derisive, "you realize this is a women's gym right? And you just thought you'd waltz down the hallway so you could leer in at my classes?"

"Hey, I was _not_ leering."

"Maybe _you_ know that, but _they_ don't! This is supposed to be a safe space, Sam. I can't have giant fucking macho men lurking in the hallways and peering through windows!"

"I didn't realize it would be a problem. It's not like this is the first time I've been here."

"Yeah, and did you forget where the back door was?"

"No. But this time I don't have Jess and her spare key."

Kat's mouth snapped shut, though she glared at him for several more seconds.

"Whatever. Just call next time, or something." She sighed, and collapsed into the chair behind her desk. "And what's that?"

Sam glanced down, remembering the brown paper bag that he was clutching in one hand. He dropped it on the desk, taking a seat across from Kat.

"Bagel—plain, untoasted, with cream cheese and peanut butter." He smiled proudly at her surprise, and shrugged. "What? Kind of hard to forget your weird breakfast orders."

"It's not that weird…"

"Yeah. It's weird."

She frowned at him, and snatched the bag off the desk. Grumpy as she was, he marked it down as a win. At least she hadn't thrown it back at him with a few bonus punches. He watched her unwrap it, waiting until she was a few bites in before trying again.

"So, uh—how was your morning?"

"Fine." Her voice was flat. She waited a beat before glancing up at him, rolling her eyes. "How was yours?"

"Good. Nice not to wake up in the Impala for a change. I'm a little tired, but the couch was a lot comfier than I expected."

Kat looked up at him knowingly.

"Yeah. I can't sleep in the living room either." She picked at the corner of her bagel, and abruptly changed the subject. "So what now? I mean, what's your plan?"

"I don't know," he said honestly. "I guess I should probably call Dean."

"You ready to patch things up?"

"Dean and I don't really patch things up. Like, ever. We just kinda keep silent and keep going. But I should probably find out where he is, see where he wants to meet up."

"And you'll be getting there…how?"

"I'll just call a cab."

Kat didn't seem impressed by that answer. Sam couldn't blame her. He hadn't exactly been flushed with cash when he'd left Missouri, and bussing his way across the country had not been cheap. He might be able to hustle some pool, but small town bars didn't have a lot of game. He'd have better luck hitchhiking or just stealing a car.

"Well, I'm not driving you," Kat said with finality. "Some of us actually have jobs."

"Yeah, I can see that," said Sam. He looked around the office—Kat's office—and was honestly impressed. "I guess business is good then. Looks like you're pretty busy."

"Actually today it's pretty dead."

"Dead? You just had like…twenty people in that class."

"It's the slow season. Always is this time of year. Just after bikini season, and right before Thanksgiving regret." Sam barked out a laugh, and almost missed Kat's smile. She hid it behind a bite of her bagel, and shrugged. "But yeah, I'm lucky enough to have a pretty loyal bunch who come all the time. Place has come a long way."

"Yeah, it definitely has."

Kat returned to her bagel, and Sam watched her fondly. The last three years had shown the world moving under his feet. He'd lost so much—they both had—and at times it felt like it'd all completely changed. But not all of the changes were bad. Kat was still here, eating her weird ass bagel and teaching her gym classes. She was battered and bruised, literally in some cases, but she had a steady income and a job that she loved. He knew from Jess that the gym had been a dream come true for her.

It was nice to know that some dreams still came true.

Sam waited until she'd finished her bagel before he cleared his throat.

"Kat, I wanna apologize for what I said yesterday. You're right. I don't have any place telling people how they should live their lives. And you've got a good thing going here. An _incredible_ thing that I know you worked hard for. So if you want some kind of normal in your life, you should go for it. You should hold onto it for as long as you can."

He gave her a supportive smile. Or at least, he'd hoped it was. But he was taken aback to find that Kat's face was still stony and serious.

"You still don't get it." She shook her head, and threw her garbage in the trash with a little more force than was necessary. "I don't do this because I want _normal_. I do this because it's just as important to me as hunting is. I meant what I said. I can't sleep at night knowing what kind of monsters are out there. But ghosts and demons aren't the only monsters. I know that you know that."

She glared at him, and Sam felt a pang of guilt.

"I'm sorry," he said instinctively. "I guess…I guess I hadn't really thought about it like that. But you're right. As long as I've known you, all you've ever wanted to do was protect people. And, by the looks of this place, you're good at it. Like, really good. Actually, it kinda makes seeing you as a hunter a whole lot easier. Most of us are out there with some kind of agenda on our back—revenge, answers. Hell, sometimes it's just straight up bloodlust. But you… I don't know. If anyone could make breaking laws to hunt ghost stories not sound crazy, it'd be you."

Sam chanced another glance at her. Kat was still frowning. But the glare, at least, was gone. He knew he'd only narrowly avoided having the situation blow up in his face again. He'd have to be more careful in the future. If he wanted to heal anything he'd had with Kat, he'd have to figure out how to stop shooting himself in the foot.

A soft knock interrupted them, and Kat was forced to abandon their stare down.

"Come in."

It was the brunette again, leaning on the doorframe and jerking a thumb over her shoulder. "Hey, just so you know, the girls are ready to start whenever you are."

"Right, yeah. I'll be there in just a sec."

Kat nodded dismissively, but the girl did not move. She crossed her arms over her chest, looking pointedly at Sam with a terribly contained smirk. Kat rolled her eyes.

"Harley, this is Sam Winchester. Sam, Harley Bates—my assistant manager."

"Hi there," said Harley. She waved at him, wiggling her fingers.

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Let me rephrase that," said Kat. "Harley Bates, who is already closing every night this week and is still on _very_ thin ice."

The authoritative tone made Harley pout, and she tossed her hands before moving to back out of the room.

"It's fine," said Sam, pushing himself to his feet. "I should get going anyway."

"Oh no, you don't." Kat stood up, countering him around the desk with an expression so pleasant, it was alarming. "You wanted to see me in action, right? You doing anything right now?"

"Well…no, but I thought…"

"Great. Then you can make yourself useful. Harley, give me five minutes and then bring him in."

She patted him on the shoulder and walked out of the room without another word. Sam wasn't sure what she meant, but he wasn't overly fond of Harley's gleeful expression.

"Oh don't look at me," she said, before he could ask. "I know better than to tell you a thing. I know Kat, and I like my job."

"…fair enough."

So they waited in silence until Harley decided it was time for them to go. Sam trailed after her back down the hall, and into the classroom Kat had been using before. There was a different group of women now, all laughing and chatting as they warmed up for class. But a hush fell over the room the moment that Sam stepped in. They all watched him warily, curiously, whispering to their friends or even giggling behind their hands.

"So as I was saying, ladies," Kat called, bringing their attention back to her, "it will be mostly review, but please try and warm up during the demo. Harley, the other half are waiting for you in E."

"What, you think I'm gonna miss this?" she asked incredulously. She shoved Sam a little into the room, predatory smile still in place. "Hell no. They can wait five minutes."

Everyone laughed. Even Kat gave a grudging smile as she turned back to her students.

"Everyone, this is my old friend Sam Winchester. He's in town for a while, decided to stop by, so I thought he could give me a hand with the lesson."

Sam waved somewhat awkwardly at the crowd. Another giggle went around the room as a few people waved back or elbowed their friends. Kat brandished a finger at them, already shaking her head.

"No, no, no. Don't be fooled by the shaggy hair and the puppy dog eyes. Lesson part one—you _never_ let your guard down. Even the cutest guys can be dangerous. In fact, they usually are. Sam's no different. He's built, he's trained, and he's got a height advantage. Those are three, huge things that put you at a disadvantage in a fight. So those are the things you have to figure out how to get around. You have to know _your_ advantages. Harley—one."

"I'm faster," said Harley, without hesitation.

"You _might_ be faster," Kat corrected. "You don't know that for sure until you're mid-fight. Not every big guy is gonna lag like a bad video game. It's harder for him to be fast, but he can be. Someone else?"

"I'm smaller?" some tried from the back of the room.

"Everyone in the damn state is smaller than Sam," said Kat, and there were a few more laughs. "No, you are smaller than him. You're right. And that can be a good thing if you know how to use it. Less body mass means you're easier to throw around, but like Harley said, it can also make you faster. With the right angles, you can fend off attacks and find openings he's not used to defending with people his own size.

"But, your most important advantage is being here, in this classroom, right now. Out there, Sam wouldn't know that you have training. That gives you the chance to be prepared, even if he makes the first move. So if you need to defend yourself, you do it right, you do it fast, and you get out before you lose that element of surprise. And that's what we're gonna work on today."

Kat walked forward, and like an ocean the students parted for her. They backed away to the walls, giving their instructor the floor, and Kat turned back to Sam with a smile.

"So, Sam is going to try and attack me, and I'm going to try and escape."

"What?" He gaped at her, and then at the twenty expectant faces lining the room. "Kat I'm—I'm not gonna attack you."

"What's wrong, Sam? Afraid I might beat you?"

"No, I _know_ you can beat me. I just don't need to prove it to an audience."

Her grin widened, and she made a show of stretching out her arms and legs. "Come on. Don't you want a little payback? I wiped the floor with your ass last time."

She was trying to goad him into attacking first. Growing up with Dean made it easy to recognize. He knew better than to act out of rage or frustration.

"I didn't come prepared for a fight," he tried, gesturing to his clothes.

"You're always prepared," Kat countered. "That's the job."

There she had him.

Sam smirked, glancing around at the spectators. There had never been much of a choice anyway. He'd come to the gym to make amends with her, and he was willing to do whatever it took. Kat had known it from a start, and played into him. She was gonna make sure she kicked his ass one more time before she even gave him an inch.

Reluctantly, Sam nodded, shrugging off his coat and rolling up his sleeves. A few women clapped or whistled, but Kat waved them off. They quieted in an instant, completely under her command.

"I'll make it easy for you," said Kat, and she turned her back on him.

Sam took a deep breath. He knew he was going to regret this. But still, he charged.

He wasn't sure what had happened. One moment he'd been grabbing for her waist, and the next his back was on the floor, the air knocked out of his lungs.

A round of applause rang in his ears. He even had to blink a few times before Kat's hand would come into focus. But she was there, smiling more brightly than he'd seen in years. He grabbed her hand and heaved himself to his feet.

"Hey, it's not bad for a warm up," Kat teased, dusting off his arm.

He nodded bitterly, letting her have her fun as he lined up to go again. This time he charged a little harder. But Kat seemed to have expected that too. She let him get as far as pinning her to his chest before she struck. Her head collided with his throat, and in the moment it took him to get his breath, he missed her jump, take out his knee, and flip him onto his back once more.

"Alright," he wheezed, as Kat beamed down at him once more. "Now you're just showing off."

"Sorry. C'mere."

She grabbed his hands, pulling him onto his feet. She slapped his shoulder a few times before she turned back to the students, giving him a moment to breathe.

"Alright, so assuming Sam hadn't attacked me from behind. Maybe this is a conversation that went south, or he just grabs my arm on the street. The sequence we were working on last week hits three major points, which are…?"

A handful of students replied at the same time, all reciting, "Throat, solar plexus, groin."

Sam's heart plummeted. One hand inched down to shield his balls.

"Exactly. So to recap, this isn't anything fancy. It's not gonna involve any flips or help you in a smack down, but for most situations, it's going to incapacitate your assailant and give you enough time to escape or call for help."

Kat turned back to Sam, offering her arm for him to grab. He frowned, but at her insistence, latched on.

"So, the throat—and remember, we're using the forearm to the elbow for this, not your hand or wrist—you strike up, you strike in, and then up."

She moved the arm he was holding, marking her movements and touching it to his neck. Her elbow came around and bumped into his chest. She stepped forward, bringing her knee up and miming the final blow.

"Now in a serious situation, you would put your whole weight behind that. I know your instinct is to get away, but you really have to step into it and use all the force you've got. If you pull back to keep your distance—blow doesn't do as much damage, and you have less time to escape later. Right now, you focus on incapacitating as much as you can."

Kat pulled Sam back to the start, walking through the motions of everything two or three more times so the women could copy her. On the final demonstration, she brought her knee up fast, taking him by surprise. Sam flinched, and the room burst into laughter as Kat stopped short. He glowered at her. Kat merely winked.

"So," she said, clapping her hands, "everyone find a partner and work on that routine. You can take turns, change the pacing, and I'll be walking around to check your form. And as an added bonus, once you're all feeling more comfortable, anyone who wants to practice on someone a bit bigger can mark with Sam. A more realistic scenario, if you will."

Sam did not at all like the sound of that. It wasn't that he was afraid of being beaten. Kat was the only person in the room who could take him in a fight, but that didn't mean he was up for being used like a dummy. Even if they were inexperienced, it didn't mean they couldn't do some damage.

It was as bad as he'd feared. Most of the women were skittish, if well-meaning. They weren't as good at marking their movements as Kat was, and Sam took more than a few elbows to the throat and gut as a result.

He wasn't sure which was worse—the over-excited women who kneed him in the balls, or the few who'd tripped themselves so they could grab his biceps.

It went on for a whole hour. The entire time, Kat stood up at the front, watching steadily and not bothering to hide her glee. It was the only thing that kept Sam from walking out. He gritted his teeth and summoned all of his patience, reassuring the women who hurt him and giving some of his own advice as well.

When it was finally over, Kat called for a big round of applause for Sam and his assistance. A few of them came up to thank him, or say goodbye before they left, and by the time they were gone, he realized Kat had disappeared as well. He took a moment to lean his back to the wall, massaging his throat where he'd taken the most hits. It wouldn't leave any serious damage, but the repetitive strikes had definitely hurt.

"So you survived." Sam looked up to find Harley leaning in the doorway, smirking widely. "I ducked out when she started really teaching, but for the first few rounds I thought you were a goner for sure."

"Ha. Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Oh it's nothing against you. You look super strong and all, but I know Kat. When she's pissed, she's pissed."

"You don't need to tell me," said Sam, wincing slightly. "A beat down I can take, but I don't know how you guys keep this up all week."

"I don't know. I've got pretty high endurance."

She winked at him, and Sam choked a laugh out of his bruised throat.

"I'm sure you do."

"I could show you sometime, if you want." She glanced behind her, holding up a slip of paper between her fingers. "Kat mentioned you were in town for a while so uh…if your schedule clears up, feel free to call me."

She held the note out to him, and Sam took it against his better judgment. He toyed with it, grinning.

"Wasn't the whole point of this lesson supposed to be that you can't trust guys like me?"

"Who said anything about trust? I thought we were talking about endurance." He laughed, and her smirk softened to a genuine smile. "But seriously, Kat's word is good enough for me."

"I don't think Kat would be first in line to call me trustworthy," Sam sighed.

"Maybe not. But she let you in, didn't she?"

"Actually, I kinda just walked in on my own."

"She didn't kick you out. Instead, she brought you into her classroom, where her students are, where she works. This is her safe space. She wouldn't let in anyone who could ever threaten that. So if you're worthy to Kat, then you're worthy to me."

Sam's throat tightened. This time, it was not because someone was punching him.

"Thanks, Harley. Really."

"Anytime." Harley watched him, still smiling to herself, and hummed. "God. _The_ Sam Winchester. You know, your picture really doesn't do you justice."

"My what?"

In a flash, the smile was gone. Harley clapped a hand over her mouth, and frantically checked the hallway again.

"Shit. Fuck. Shit fuck! Please don't tell her I said that. Oh my God, she is totally gonna fire me!"

"Harley, wait—calm down. What picture?"

"Oh no! No, no, no, I am _not_ that stupid. I am done here. I'll see you later, Sam. Or maybe not. Please don't tell her. Shit, I'm so dead."

She was halfway to the lobby before he could blink, and gone the moment he did. The entire interaction left him bewildered.

Sam stood dumbly in the doorway until Kat found him. Her happiness was contained again, her face more serious, but she still seemed more relaxed that she had that morning. She pushed an ice pack into his chest, her eyes flicking between his face and the paper in his hands.

"She did not," Kat sighed, glaring down the empty hallway. "Seriously, Sam?"

"Uh—sorry, what?"

"I let you into the class to watch everyone kick you in the balls for an hour and you _still_ managed to get someone's phone number? Unbelievable. That was supposed to be punishment!"

"Trust me," he groaned, moving the ice pack to his legs. "That's what it felt like."

"You are not calling her," she warned, jabbing him in the chest.

"What? No! Of course I'm not. Do you think I have a death wish?"

"Good. Cause if you were going to, I couldn't give you this."

Kat held up her hand, much as Harley had done, holding up a small roll of bills. Sam gaped.

"No way. Kat, I'm not taking any of your money."

"Why? Cause it's less honorable than hustling a couple drunk dudes at pool? Come on. You just got punched and groped by a bunch of strangers for an hour, and my students got the legitimately beneficial opportunity of practicing with someone who knows what they're doing. You earned it."

Sam pursed his lips as she pushed the money at him. There was a dangerous gleam in her eye. He didn't want to disagree with her and land himself back in the shithouse. And he had a feeling that if he didn't take it, she might punch him again.

He sighed, taking the bills from her. "Thanks, Kat. Really."

"Don't make that face," she said, rolling her eyes. "It's not that much. I just don't want physical abuse on my conscience."

He followed her back down the hall to her office. Kat paid no attention to him as she went back to work. She shuffled through a pile of bills on the desk, highlighting and signing as she went. She opened up her laptop and typed away on emails and different spreadsheets. She had her own things to do.

Sam took the time to really look around the room. It wasn't anything elaborate. If anything, it was very Kat in the way that there wasn't much there. Her business degree was framed up on the wall, along with the certifications she'd needed to get the business running. There was a bookshelf with some defense and self-help books. There were a few pictures on the shelves as well, which he peered at curiously, but they were all pictures of the gym—group pictures of the staff, a few action shots of classes, nothing that had anything to do with Kat's personal life.

"Are you snooping for something specific?"

Sam jumped in spite of himself, trying to look innocent as he turned back to Kat. She hadn't even lifted her head.

"Uh, no. Just—Just looking."

"You know, I've always wondered how you of all people got to be a successful hunter. It seems like most of the time you are a really terrible liar."

His smile was bitter as he took the chair across from her. "You'd be surprised."

"Really?" She looked up at him, thoroughly unimpressed. "You lied to my face for over a year and you think I'd be surprised?"

"Er…good point."

"So? What are you hoping you'll find by sneaking around my office?"

He hesitated. He could think of a hundred ways to deflect the question, but none of them would get him closer to a real answer. Harley's words were burning in the back of his mind, but he couldn't think of a good way to solve the questions they left him with. Maybe it was time to stop lying.

"Okay, um…don't get mad."

He instantly regretted this sentence. Kat sat up straight, looking _extremely_ prepared to be mad, and he cleared his throat.

"Harley was talking to me before and she…well, she kind of made it sound like she already knew who I was. Like she'd seen me before. So, I didn't know if maybe…maybe you had a picture of me and Jess somewhere or something."

Sam braced himself for the onslaught of screaming. But Kat didn't scream. She didn't even look mad at first. The first reaction that flitted across her face was something akin to mortified. It was only after several seconds of shock that the anger crept in, and her hand balled into a fist on the table.

"I…am going to… _murder_ her."

"I don't think you have to," said Sam. "Honestly she looked so scared when she realized what she said, she might have offed herself."

"Well good."

She huffed, glaring out the window and digging her nails into the palm of her hand. But Sam couldn't help but notice that she had not corrected him.

"So…does that mean that you do? Have a picture?"

Kat looked over at him, her jaw clenched. She considered him for a moment, a moment he endured with baited breath. Finally, she leaned down to pop open the bottom drawer of her desk.

The first thing she pulled out was a bottle of whiskey. It thumped on the desk, followed by a glass tumbler. She poured out a drink and pushed him the glass. She took a swig from the bottle for herself, and reached back into the drawer. The second thing she pulled out was a picture frame—a worn one with cracked glass that she slid to him over the desk.

It took him a moment to recognize. The picture itself was faded by heat damage, but the major aspects remained. It was three people, familiar even though it felt like another life. Sam stood with his arms wrapped around Jess, who was grinning in front of him. Kat was above him, her arms over her head, holding herself up on his back just with the strength of her legs. Her hair was shorter, her face caught in the middle of a laugh. She was barely recognizable.

"You probably don't remember that," she mumbled, "but that was…"

"The gym's one-year anniversary," said Sam. He didn't even have to think. "Jess threw this big surprise party in your backyard and everything. I'm pretty sure you almost punched her when she jumped out at you."

"Yeah. Yeah I did." Kat laughed, taking another sip from the bottle. "Jess was always really bad at keeping secrets. She just got so excited about everything. I think the biggest surprise was that she managed not to say anything about it."

"She didn't say anything to _you_ ," Sam corrected. "I don't think she stopped talking about it to anyone else. It was the only thing I heard about for like a month."

"Sorry."

"No, it was fine. She was just… She was really proud of you. She was happy. And it was nice to see you happy too."

She smiled sadly, pulling the picture back toward her. He nails scratched absently against the glass, where ash and dust had collected since the fire.

"I don't take it out much. I don't even remember showing it to Harley. But I think…I don't know. It was probably the happiest I'd been since I graduated. It's probably the happiest I've been like…ever."

"Kat," he started, but she shook her head.

"Don't. I—I know you're sorry. You didn't want this to happen. None of us did, but…it doesn't change the fact that it did happen. Jess…she was my best friend. She was everything to me. So…sometimes I just feel like I'm having a hard time getting over it."

"I don't want you to get over it," said Sam. "Kat, I'm not over it either. I think about her all the time, and I hate myself for what happened every day. But hunting with Dean reminded me that if I keep focusing on all the different ways I failed her—that I failed all of you—then I'm not gonna be able to save as many people now."

Kat nodded into her bottle, and Sam bit his lip.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry about Marcus too."

"Oh, come on," she groaned, letting her head fall back. "Is it only Winchesters who're allowed to have secrets?"

"Sorry. Your mom told me last night."

"Of course she did. Typical."

Sam leaned forward, grabbing the bottom of the whiskey before she could hide her face in another sip. She glowered at him, but he held his ground. He was going to get it all out and finish if it killed him.

"Look, I know I've said I'm sorry. About Jess, about Marcus, about your dad. But Kat, I'm sorry about _you._ I know I lied, I know I didn't check in. Because of that you got trapped up in this crazy life, and that's on me. So I am sorry about what happened to Marcus. But I'm more sorry that you felt like you had to go through it alone."

Kat did not answer him. Her face was still tight, her jaw clenched, but it was the same way that he did when he couldn't bring himself to speak. It was what he'd looked like when he'd been talking to Harley, what he'd looked like when he'd been talking to Grace. So he didn't push her. He just forced a smile.

"Alright. I'm done now. I promise."

"Good," said Kat. Her voice was a little weaker than normal, but she scoffed like a champ. "Cause I'm getting really tired of listening to your voice."

"You got time for lunch?"

"Sure. But you're paying."

"Actually," he said, pulling the roll of bills out of his pocket again. "It looks like you are."

"Shut up, Winchester."


	9. Chapter 9

This had been a really bad idea.

Kat wasn't sure how she'd been stupid enough to let herself get roped up in it. There had to be some kind of conspiracy going on. Because _of course_ Dean had called Sam with a case, and _of course_ Sam had answered while they were eating breakfast in the kitchen, and _of course_ her mother had walked into the room and overheard. At that point, there hadn't been any choice. It was either spend the rest of the month being constantly berated by her mother for letting Sam go off on his own on a dangerous mission—after he'd apologized, after he'd travelled across the country to see her, after he even pitched in at the gym—or offer to accompany him on the case.

That was how she'd ended up here, sitting economy next to Sam Winchester and waiting for their plane to land in Pennsylvania. Sam had fallen asleep almost instantly, which was fine by her. She did not want to talk to him about anything at the moment. She flipped through the airline's shopping catalog in an attempt to distract herself from her own self-loathing. This was going to be a goddamn nightmare.

The plane touched down with a jolt, but even that wasn't enough to wake Sam. Kat snorted as people began to collect their things, and elbowed him in the ribs.

"Hey, asswipe." She ignored the horrified look of the young mother across the aisle, shoving Sam's shoulder more forcefully. "Sam, wake up."

"Wha…?" Sam's eyes blinked open, and he looked around blearily at the crowd. "Oh, man. Already? That was quick."

"You were snoring for four hours. It didn't feel quick to anyone else."

"Sorry. Anything that's not the backseat of the car is a nice change for me. Or your couch."

"Wow. You don't say."

Kat glared at the magazine. Sam was looking over at her with disappointment, and she felt a rush of satisfaction when he sighed.

"You're still mad at me."

"Yeah. I'm still mad at you."

"I just wanted to make it easier for you to come."

"Well thanks, Sam, but I didn't want to come."

He didn't push her. They had already had this conversation at least twice, and while he had explained to her over and over again that he wanted her to come on the hunt, she wasn't any less upset. She knew she was being childish, but it felt good to watch him struggle.

She slid out of the seat after him, reaching into the overhead to grab her duffel. The strap caught on the wheel of another suitcase. She yanked, and yanked again. It only gained her another inch.

Sam reached up, plucking the bag out with infuriating ease and handing it down to her.

"Kat, I'm…"

"If you say the 's' word one more time, I'm gonna go postal." She pushed a finger in his face, hitting him with the bag as she swung it onto her shoulder. "I swear. You've expressed more emotions in the past forty-eight hours than I have in a year."

"You sound like Dean," he snorted as he followed her down the aisle.

Kat stopped short, her bag smacking him in the gut in retaliation. "Uncalled for."

"I'm s—… Never mind." He smothered a smirk, ducking slightly as he stepped off the plane. "I promise, he's not as bad as you think he is."

"Right. Do you remember Jess's funeral? Cause I do. Vividly."

"He maintains that he was not trying to flirt with you. It just got…lost in translation." Kat shot him a look, and he held up his hands. "I'm not saying that you have to like him. I'm just asking you to give him a chance."

"Whatever."

They made their way through the terminal. Crowds parted easily for Sam, while Kat had to pretend she wasn't speed-walking to keep up with him. They skipped baggage claim, heading straight for the parking lot. There on the sidewalk, leaning casually against the building in his oversized leather jacket, was Dean Winchester.

"Finally," he groaned as they made their way up to him. "Can we get out of here now? I freaking hate airports."

Sam cleared his throat, giving him one of his bitchy looks that meant he was doing something wrong. Dean raised an eyebrow, and Sam looked very pointedly at Kat. She was very pointedly not looking at either of them, glowering over the parking lot as if every single car there had caused her immense emotional trauma. Dean rolled his eyes, and forced a smile.

"Hey Kat. Good to see you looking less like you want to kill me."

She turned to him, and mirrored his grimace. "Trust me. It's still in there."

"Come on," he tried. "Can't we skip all the bitching at each other? I'd say we're probably even now, right?"

"Even? You knocked me out and left me handcuffed to a chair."

"You knocked me out first."

"You stole my car!"

"Who cares? You drive a Prius. Far as I'm concerned I did you a favor."

"Bite me."

"When and where, sweetheart?"

He knew, in theory, he shouldn't have done it. She had already proven that she could kick his ass, and he preferred his junk in non-bruised, working condition. But how was he supposed to ignore an opportunity like that? She'd opened the door and practically bowed him inside.

Kat looked ready to explode. She floundered for a moment, clenched her first, and then squeaked out some foreign noise of frustration. She flipped him off, and stormed away down the sidewalk. Dean chuckled, watching her stomp over to a vending machine and frighten several children.

It was worth Sam's second bitch face.

"Really, Dean?"

"Oh, come on. She walked right into that." Dean snorted, turning his annoyance back on his brother. "Besides, you're the one that brought her. Really great idea, man."

"She's here to help."

"We don't need help, Sam. We've tackled vamps by ourselves before."

"Yeah, we have," Sam agreed. "And you know what we say every time we work a case? That it would be nice to have backup. Well guess what, Dean? Now we have back up."

"No, see that," Dean said, pointing over at Kat as she fumbled angrily with her money, " _that_ is not back up. That's a newbie who doesn't know the difference between a selkie and a shtriga. That's not back up. That's babysitting."

"She can fight. You've seen her in action! Kat knows what she's doing. She took me out like, three more times while I was in California."

"Right. Cause this is totally about you wanting back up and not because you're feeling nostalgic."

Sam frowned. "Why can't it be both?"

"Cause three's a crowd, Sammy. And I'm not cool with it."

"Well, that's too bad. Cause she's here, whether you're cool or not." Sam shook his head, hoisting his bag higher on his shoulder. "Look, just try and play nice, okay? It's been nice hanging out with her again, and…she hasn't had it easy the past few years."

"Yeah, well I was in Hell."

"Dean," Sam sighed, giving him another sharp look. "Please."

Dean bristled. Short of leaving them both there, he didn't see another option. And easy as it would have been to wave to Kat in the rearview mirror, he'd already been missing Sam after a week—fucked up as Sam might have been.

"Yeah, sure," Dean grumbled. "But I'm letting you know now—if you're getting a boner for your girlfriend's sister, that's messed up."

"Dude…"

"I'm just saying." Dean shrugged, twirling the Impala keys around his finger. "Hey, Tinkerbell! Car's this way when you're done with your hissy fit!"

Kat flipped him off again, and Sam groaned, but Dean just started his walk to the car. He'd let her ride along, sure. That didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

He led the way back to the Impala, Sam tossing his bag in the trunk and taking his usual seat on the passenger side. Kat took a while longer. She walked slowly as she approached them, her eyes lingering over the car's shining exterior. Dean could help but smile proudly.

"Like her? A '67 Chevy Impala, damn near mint condition."

"Yeah. It's nice."

"Nice?" Dean screwed up his face. "She's more than just nice. Baby's awesome. She's gorgeous."

Kat irreverently threw her bag in before her, but paused to give him a very piteous look. "Gosh, that's…so sad."

She shook her head, disappearing into the backseat, but he could hear Sam snorting from the passenger side. Dean shot him a dirty look as he climbed in and started up the car.

Baby revved to life, levelling the playing field. Her stereo greeted him with Def Leppard— "Pour Some Sugar On Me" blasting through the speakers so the very car frame shook. Just the sound made him smile. Still, it was an added bonus to look in the rearview and see Kat's nose wrinkled in distaste.

"So you don't like cars," he called over his shoulder, "and you don't like music. Good to know."

"I like music," she argued. "I just like not being deaf more. Could you turn it down?"

"Ah, no can do. Sammy, you wanna explain the rules?"

Sam gave him a weary look, and turned apologetically to Kat. "Basically, uh…Dean drives, we suffer."

"Good enough for me," said Dean.

He turned his grin back to the front, turning up the music so loud that he could barely stand it himself. He revved the engine again, and pulled Baby out of the parking lot.

The drive to Canonsburg was a long one. Kat and Sam had taken the earliest flight that they could, but it was still dark before they got anywhere close. Clouds had rolled in, and the gentle roll of thunder could be heard under the rumble of the engine.

Sam had made Dean turn off the cassettes, opting for the radio instead. It was the closest they could get to neutral ground. And it sucked. Almost every channel was static, and the only one that came through clear was instrumental. Dean put up with it for nearly half an hour, just to fill the silence as Sam went over the case file and Kat moped in the back seat. But eventually, it got to be too much.

"The radio around here sucks," he grumbled, turning the stereo off.

There was a short hum of agreement from the back, though Kat refused to voice it out loud, and Sam just continued to brood over his manila folder.

"Come on, man," said Dean with a side glance. "Jobs don't get much weirder than this, you know? Dead vic with a gnawed on neck, body drained of blood— _and_ a witness who swears up and down that it was a vampire!"

It was hard to keep the excitement out of his voice. Sam, however, didn't seem to share his enthusiasm.

"No. I—I agree. It's a hell of a case."

That was about all of the response that he got. Dean waited, but Sam only rubbed his eyes and continued to stare blankly at the paper.

"A little more gusto, please."

"Don't mind Sam," said Kat. "He's pretty tired. He had a pretty exciting night."

Dean's eyebrows rose at her bitter tone. He turned to Sam, who had finally resurfaced from his research.

"Kat, I told you. It wasn't a big deal."

"What wasn't a big deal?" asked Dean.

"I know what you told me. It's fine."

"Nothing happened!"

"Wait, nothing happened when?"

"It's fine, Sam. You and Harley are both consenting adults."

"Harley?" Dean repeated, eyes wide. "Who the hell is Harley?"

Sam sighed in frustration.

"Harley is one of Kat's employees. Kat agreed to back me up on the case, and Harley agreed to cover Kat's classes…with a few conditions…"

"Like?"

"Like I take her to dinner. Which is all I did."

"Yeah," snapped Kat. "And then just disappeared for the night on a totally unrelated issue. Right."

Sam was smart enough not to reply. His face had settled into an expression of resignation—one Dean was becoming increasingly familiar with since he'd come back from Hell. They'd argued so much that Sam had reached a point he didn't bother fighting back. In any other situation, that expression would have been bad news. But now, it made Dean grin like a Cheshire cat.

"Well how about that?" he said, slapping Sam on the shoulder. "That's my boy!"

Sam glared. Dean was clearly _not_ helping the situation. But Kat didn't even acknowledge the outburst.

"I told you I didn't want you calling her."

"And I didn't! Not like…"

" _And_ I seem to recall you promising me that _of course_ you weren't going to call her because you didn't have a death wish. Did I get that right?"

"Kat, I was just trying to have your back." There was a scoff of outrage behind him, and even Dean winced as Sam rushed on, "She said she wouldn't cover the shifts otherwise, and I didn't want you to have to scramble, so yes, I called her."

"She was bluffing, you asshole!"

"Well I didn't know that."

"Of course she was! I'm her fucking boss! She literally has to do what I ask her to do! And Harley is _used_ to covering for me, because in case you've forgotten, I actually go on hunts all the time. I give her a bonus, I buy her a bottle of wine, and we're square. That's our routine. So I don't need you to pity fuck her like you're doing me some huge favor dragging me across the country on a hunt I did not ask to go on."

A painful silence followed, each of them staring out a different window with varying degrees of frustration. Dean frowned thoughtfully, unable to keep his question to himself.

"So?" he asked, glancing over at Sam.

"So what?"

"So…did you sleep with her?"

He flinched under the weight of their combined glares. But Sam rolled his eyes.

"No, I did not sleep with her. We met up for dinner, she talked about the gym, finishing school. I lied my ass off about how I travel for work. Mostly she wanted to know about how I knew Kat, and…and about Jess." He looked pointedly at Kat's reflection in the side mirror. "And then I booked myself a motel room, because after two days of not being able to sleep in the living room, I was kind of wiped. Just like I said."

"Sounds plausible to me," said Dean. "Thoughts?"

He looked up in the rearview mirror, twisting his head so he could see Kat stretched out in the back. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, nails digging into her forearms. When she noticed him looking, she glowered so deeply into the mirror, he thought for a moment the glass might shatter.

Dean quickly turned back to the road. "Yikes."

"Would you just mind your own fucking business?"

"Sorry, sweetheart, but when you bring your drama into my car, it kinda becomes my business," he snapped. "Not that I'm not loving your sparkling personality, but if you don't wanna be here, then why the hell did you come?"

"Because my mom kicked me out."

He nearly stopped the car. He even chanced a glance in the mirror again to check if she was being sarcastic. Once he realized she was serious, he didn't know whether to scoff or die laughing.

"You're telling me you're here because your mom made you come?"

"Yes."

"What are you, twelve?"

"It was stay at home and have her guilt trip me for the rest of the week, or get stuck with you two idiots and kill a couple vampires. I chose the vampires."

"Seriously?" Dean looked over at Sam for confirmation, actually concerned. "What kind of parent guilt trips their kid for not killing things? I mean, Dad was one thing, but…"

"The kind of parent who cares more about Sam than me," said Kat.

"That's not true," said Sam. "She just wants you to have back up for a change instead of hunting by yourself. It's safer. And we're glad to have the help."

"Yeah, ecstatic," Dean grumbled.

His sarcasm did not go unnoted by Kat, who snorted.

"Gotta say, I'm surprised to see you two slumming it on a vamps case. Figured you'd be doing something more daring with all the angels and demons running around."

"It's complicated," said Sam, turning back to his folder. "And we don't have a huge amount of intel on the Apocalypse."

"I thought it was about breaking seals," said Kat. "Breaking enough to set the Devil free. So, shouldn't you be trying to figure out what they are?"

Dean blinked, and turned to gape at Sam. Sam just shifted uncomfortably, burying his nose deeper in the file.

"Like I said. It's complicated."

"Well, it's a mission from God. I didn't think it'd be a stroll in the park."

"Yeah, well, we can't save the world alone," Dean snapped at her. "Not today, anyway. But what we can do is chop off some vamps' heads. Just like the good old days. Honest to goodness monster hunt. After all the shit we've been wading through the past week, I for one am thrilled to be tackling a straightforward, black and white case. So is that alright by you, Blondie? Or should I just say that these people ain't worth my time?"

He glared into the rearview mirror, hoping to take her off guard. But Kat just watched him with raised eyebrows. She let out a long, low whistle.

"Damn. No need to get so pissy about it."

Sam had already hidden his face behind his paperwork, but it didn't do enough to mask his chuckle. His giant shoulders shook with laughter, and Dean promptly punched him in the arm.

"Ow! What the hell, Dean?"

"You know exactly what the hell. Shut up."

"Damn," said Sam, barely containing a smile. "Having back up makes you bitchy."

There was a snort of laughter in the back, and Dean gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

"Well, fuck you two. I'm putting the shitty radio on again."

He slammed his hand on the stereo, letting the infuriating instrumental music fill the car. He regretted it instantly—it was just so, so bad—but his pride prevented him from turning it off. He wasn't going to let two children team up on him. Ridiculous.

It took them some time to find a motel in the dark. Sam had to check the roadmap by flashlight, and the first three that they tried didn't have any vacancies. Dean made a few select comments about tourists—he'd nearly forgotten that it was Oktoberfest season. But eventually they found a place with space and parked for the night.

Dean was a little surprised when Kat followed him to the front desk, leaving Sam behind at the car. He ignored her for the most part, booking their usual room with two beds under whatever phony card he pulled out first. Kat didn't acknowledge him either. She just waited at the counter, looking through the leaflets of local attractions.

"You're all set, Mr. Young," said the manager, giving Dean a curt nod. "You enjoy your stay now."

"Yeah, thanks very much."

"And how can I help you, miss?" he asked, turning to Kat.

"Oh, she's…" Dean started, but Kat cut him off.

"Hi," she said, with a small smile. "Room for one?"

"Well, let me see what I can do for you."

Dean raised an eyebrow, backing off a few steps and busying himself with his wallet. He raised them even higher when Kat handed over several hundred dollar bills, along with a fake driver's license.

"And your keys, Miss Paige. Have a nice night."

"You too," she said, and Dean followed her out of the lobby.

"Cash?" asked Dean when he was sure they were out of earshot. "Pretty ballsy move."

"I don't like a paper trail," she said with a shrug.

"Still. You could just get a fake card like the rest of us."

"Some of us have real jobs, Dean. I break enough laws hunting. I don't need to add credit card scams to my proverbial rap sheet."

"And you make enough that you're just gonna get your own room?"

"Well, yeah." Kat shot him a side glance. "What did you think was gonna happen?"

"I don't know," he said with a shrug. "Figured you were angling to bunk with Sam."

"Excuse me?" This time she stopped completely, looking revolted. "God, what is wrong with you? You're seriously just—that's disgusting."

"Hey, I didn't say it was a good idea! I just figured since you seemed so mad about the Harley thing, and two are all buddy-buddy all of a sudden…"

"Just stop talking," she demanded, holding up a hand. She shook her head in disbelief, and stamped down the hallway away from him.

"We're meeting at the car at ten!" he called after her. "If you're not there then we're leaving your ass behind!"

Kat did not stop walking. She flipped him off over her shoulder, and disappeared around the corner.

Dean bristled.

"Bitch."

He marched off to his own room, where Sam was waiting outside with the bag. His brother did a double take when he walked up, checking up and down the hallway.

"Where's Kat?" he asked.

"Her own room," said Dean, smiling wryly as he unlocked the door. "Apparently she wasn't loving the idea of a co-ed sleepover."

"Fair. If I had the money, I'd get my own room too."

Sam chuckled, but didn't say anything else on the subject. Dean watched as he got comfortable on one of the beds, spreading out his case file and pulling the laptop out of his bag. He didn't even seem to notice the Dean wasn't doing the same.

Dean closed the door and dropped the keys on the nightstand. He took his time shrugging off his coat, and fiddled with the cuffs of his overshirt.

"So…seems like Kat's still not your biggest fan."

"Uh, no," said Sam, with a small laugh. "Not exactly."

"You said your piece though, right? So what happened? She wasn't biting?"

"No, I mean, she bought it I guess. But…a lot's happened to her since I last saw her. She was trying to recover from Jess's death, and then her dad got killed by a crocotta. And on top of all that, I found out that her mentor Marcus was one of the twenty hunters Lilith killed with the Witnesses. All that kinda ties back to us, so…not exactly something you can heal in one weekend."

"Yeah. It's rough."

He nodded, mostly to himself. It explained a few things—mostly why she always seemed so ready to pick a fight with them—but it was not what he was after.

"Still," he said carefully, "sounds like you were pretty forthcoming with her. You definitely explained a few things while you were over there."

Now Sam seemed to sense the danger. He looked up from the files, looking exhausted before he even spoke. "You're mad."

"Ha. You're damn right I'm mad, Sammy. I mean—angels, seals, the big showdown with Lucifer? Shit, is there anything you didn't tell this chick?"

"Dean, she deserves to know," said Sam, his voice flat. "We're not the only people dealing with this. Her mentor died, and…"

"Yeah, and newsflash! A bunch of other people died too! Are we supposed to start sending out newsletters to the general community to keep them updated?"

Sam didn't bother answering him. He didn't even bother looking. He just stared at the bedspread, waiting for Dean to finish. That was fine by Dean, who pushed right on.

"Don't get me wrong, man. I'm real glad you're suddenly turning over this new honesty leaf. Guess I'm just a little curious as to why the hell you feel like you can be more honest with this girl who hates your guts than you can with your own brother."

"I wasn't," said Sam. "I told her about the Apocalypse, I told her about Lilith, but…I didn't tell her everything about me."

"Oh, great." Dean snorted derisively. "So we're still lying about that. Good to know."

"She was already freaking out about everything else. I didn't want to put all of that on her at once."

"So when are you gonna tell her? Hm? You waiting for the right time? Cause I'd love to hear when you think that's gonna be."

"I don't know, Dean," Sam said, glaring. "And why would you care? One minute you're yelling at me for telling her too much, now it's back to blaming me for hiding things? It's almost like Kat's not really the thing you're mad about."

"Wow, you're really a champ detective, Sammy. Great work."

He fell back on the bed, pulling his duffel bag toward him with a little more force than necessary. He fished out one of his machetes and set to sharpening it to fill the silence. It wasn't that he wanted to fight with Sam. Not really. It was just so easy for him to get caught up in the mess they were in—Apocalypse, demon powers, angels who were more dicks than holy. He didn't like to admit that he was overwhelmed. But it was easy to put that on Sam.

They worked in silence for a while, both focused on their own tasks and hyper-aware of the tension in the room. Finally, Sam's quiet voice broke through.

"She already knew, anyway."

"She knew what?"

"That I had some kind of abilities. Marcus told her there was some hunter going around telling everyone I had superpowers, and that I had to be stopped."

"What?" Dean froze, putting the blade aside. "Who the hell would—Gordon?"

Sam nodded. He tapped his pen anxiously against his thigh, boring a hole into the bedspread again. "How many people know, you think?"

"About you?" Dean scoffed. "Dude, Gordon was out of his mind. The way Ellen tells it, it sounds like everyone knew it. No one's gonna believe anything he was rambling about."

"Well obviously some people did," Sam argued. "Otherwise Kat wouldn't have thought to bring it up. I mean, it's like you said—if people don't know the whole story, if they don't know me or about Azazel—you said you'd want to hunt someone like me."

"I'm not gonna let that happen."

Sam looked up at him, and it was easy to recognize the flicker of fear in his eyes. It instantly made Dean furious—not at Sam, but at the world.

"Look, maybe you've made a few wrong choices. You have—a lot of them. But that doesn't mean I'm gonna let some random ass hunter take you out because of this…this thing in your blood. You said you're done with it, right? So you're done with it. I'm not out there telling people I had the clap once, cause that shit's not relevant anymore."

Sam grimaced with a broken laugh.

"Dude, that's—that's so not the same thing."

"Maybe not," Dean said with a shrug. "But if you're done with this thing—if you're really done with it, whatever self-help, this-is-for-me reason you might have—then that's enough. You don't have to tell anyone that. I just wish you'd told me. Got it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I got it."

"Good." Dean sighed, shoving his bag onto the floor and dropping the machete back inside. "See, this is why I'm so pumped for this monster hunt, you know? I'm so tired of all this life-altering weirdo crap. I just wanna let lose, and decapitate something."

"Right," Sam snorted, shaking his head. "Cause that's a real healthy attitude."

"Hey, if you've got it, don't repress it. That's what I say." Dean heaved himself off the bed, patting Sammy on the shoulder as he headed for the bathroom. "Don't study too hard. Gotta be up bright and early for Oktoberfest. Told Tinkerbell we'd meet at the car at ten, and I am not gonna let her get there first."

"Seriously, Dean. Could you please stop calling her that? You're not making this any easier."

Dean paused, thinking about it for a moment. Then he smiled smugly.

"No."

And he shut the bathroom door behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

Truth be told, Kat had never really understood Oktoberfest. She knew it was some big, German celebration where everyone dressed up, ate sausages, and got day drunk off warm beer. That was about it. She had little to no interest in it. And her current trip wasn't doing much to change her mind.

She'd met the boys at the Impala at precisely ten in the morning. They were easy to spot in their mock-FBI suits. Kat was a little less formal—just a button down and some slacks, with her badge clipped to her belt. The low heels allowed her to run if she had to, and she kept her hair clipped back on top of her head. She pointedly ignored Dean's off-color comment about preferring pencil skirts, as well as Sam's apologetic look on his behalf. Not that she'd been expecting anything different. But it still wasn't a great way to start the morning.

She nabbed Sam's case file to read on the drive, copying notes into her own book. It kept her occupied, and helped block out the sounds of Dean's ridiculous cassette collection.

They parked just outside Canonsburg's town square, which seemed to be the hub of the activity. It was admittedly a cute set up. There were huge banners, a live band, and food carts on every corner. The only problem was that it was nearly impossible to tell the difference between town employees and festival goers. Almost everyone in sight was wearing a bright smile and some version of lederhosen, which made the three of them stick out. Badly.

"Guess we can forget staying under the radar," Kat said lowly, taking a look around the courtyard.

"We're not trying to stay under the radar," said Sam. "You want to look intimidating. Make sure they don't ask for your credentials twice."

"I get that, maybe down at the station. But in public? I mean, we're pretty much wearing neon signs that say, 'Hey, we're onto you and we're investigating. I am a threat.' Won't that…I don't know…spook the perp?"

"I'm sorry, _spook the perp_?" Dean laughed. "What, did you just finish a marathon of _Law and Order_?"

"Shut up."

"Dean, lay off," Sam sighed. "Maybe she has a point."

Dean stopped walking, turning to look at his brother incredulously. He started several sentences before shaking his head. "Dude, you are so whipped. I—big pretzel!"

He sped off without another word, making a beeline for one of the food carts on the other side of the courtyard. Sam chuckled, and turned to Kat with a grimace.

"So, should I keep apologizing when he does that, or does that just make it more annoying?"

"Oh it's definitely more annoying."

"Right. Noted."

They trailed after Dean across the yard, where he met them with two pretzels the size of dinner plates—one for himself, and one for Sam. He smiled smugly at Kat, who honestly couldn't have cared less, but he was quickly distracted by a passing blonde in a frilly skirt.

"Guten tag," she said brightly, and Dean didn't bother hiding his longing gaze.

"Guten tag yourself."

Kat couldn't repress a snort of a disapproval, and Sam passed her a piece of pretzel. "He doesn't mean it like that."

"Oh yes I do," said Dean. "Just because you brought a date doesn't mean I'm gonna stop doing my thing. And Hot Bar Wench Number One is at the top of my to do list."

"You're disgusting," Kat scoffed.

"Guys," said Sam, nodding across the yard. "I think I found our guy."

The sheriff was standing not too far away, directing tourists around the yard with a polite smile. Sam ditched the pretzel before they walked over, Dean choosing to shove the last piece in his mouth instead with a revolting gagging noise. Kat found it difficult to maintain a passive, professional expression.

"Sheriff Dietrich," Sam greeted, his voice changing ever so slightly as he stepped into his role of authority.

"Are you the boys from the Fed?" the man asked, looking them over. "And gal. My apologies."

"Agents Angus, Young, and Paige," said Sam, as they all flashed their badges. "We called ahead about your, uh…problem."

"Bit weird for them to send three of ya, isn't it? I mean, it's just one incident."

"We take any kind of incident very seriously," Sam said gravely.

"Besides," added Dean, "if you want to get technical, Paige isn't a _real agent_ yet. She's just tagging along so we can show her the ropes. Isn't that right, Probie?"

Kat glared hard enough that Dean's smile actually slipped. The sheriff, however, didn't seem to think twice about her reaction.

"I'll tell you what, why don't we talk this out away from the crowd, huh? You can follow me down to the hospital, see everything for yourselves."

He waved to another attendant before heading down one of the side streets, beckoning them over his shoulder. They exchanged somewhat surprised glances, but followed him down the cobblestone path.

"Walking?" asked Dean.

"Small town," the sheriff said with a shrug. "Not worth the hassle of the traffic. Too many cars this time of year."

"Is it always this busy?" Kat asked.

"For Oktoberfest? Absolutely. Might not be the biggest celebration in the country, but we do alright. Town population's about tripled. Always gets reviewed as one of the best festivals in the state. I hate to see something like this ruin it."

"We'll do our best to clear it up without too much noise," Sam assured him.

"Much appreciated. Truth be told we don't see this kind of crime up there that often. Maybe a few animal attacks, minor hunting accidents, but this? I can't remember the last time the office had to investigate a murder, much less one with this much weird attached to it."

"Well," Dean said haughtily, "we're sure you did what you could with your limited resources."

Sheriff Dietrich didn't look too pleased with Dean's tone, but he pursed his lips.

"I'm not thrilled about having you bunch stepping on toes around here. But…I'm an old man. I've seen a lot in my years, and I know when I'm out of my depth."

He gave Dean a once over, but grumpily turned forward and picked up his pace. Kat frowned, surprised. Maybe the suits did their job after all.

The hospital was nearly empty, save for one or two nurses manning the front desk. The sheriff waved warmly to them, and they passed without question. He led them right through to the small morgue in the basement of the building, which looked as though it was rarely used.

Kat pulled a small notebook from her pocket, clicking her pen and starting the page with the date. She made a few minor notes—mostly details she'd picked up on in Dietrich's description of the festival, such as the high tourism rate. An influx of out of towners would be the perfect excuse for vampires to wander in for feeding, though there was still the question of where they could possibly be keeping victims in a town this small.

It took her a few lines before she noticed someone watching her, and she looked up to find a very amused Dean at her shoulder.

"Oh, don't let me stop you, Probie. Note taking. Cute."

"She's just over here," called Sheriff Dietrich.

Dean winked at her, and walked over to inspect the body, leaving Kat to fume in his wake.

"Marissa Wright, twenty-six," the sheriff said, nodding down to the pale blonde on the slab. "Just up from Lockhard for the fest. Terrible, just terrible. It's the last thing this town needs at peak tourist season."

"Definitely the last thing Marissa Wright needed," said Sam coolly.

Dietrich had the decency to look sheepish at that, and Dean leaned forward to tilt Marissa's head to the side. "What the hell…?"

Her neck had been gnawed on, just like Dean's original report had said, but it wasn't any bite mark that Kat had ever seen. Definitely not the torn carnage that vampires usually left behind with their many rows of teeth. Instead, Marissa had two delicate punctures over her jugular, barely an inch apart. There wasn't even any bruising from the surrounding teeth.

The three of them shared a worried glance, unnoticed by the sheriff.

"Yeah, you got me," he said casually. "This killer's some kind of grade-A wacko, right? I mean, some Satan-worshipping, Anne-Rice-reading, gothic, psycho vampire wannabe."

At a loss, Kat began scribbling the long list of adjectives in her notebook, and Dean cleared his throat.

"Sheriff, in your report you mentioned a witness."

"Yeah, I wished I didn't. But the witness insisted—that's Ed Brewer. Not exactly what you'd call reliable."

"Why's that?" asked Kat.

"He's uh…excitable," he said carefully. "Bit of a recluse, kind of jumpy—eccentric even. He's a good kid, but…I wouldn't exactly trust his word on something like this."

"We'd like to speak to him anyway," said Sam. "Any idea where we might find him?"

"Well, if the sun is up he's usually at the bar. Don't think he works until the night shift. I'll see if I can't get you the address."

He backed out of the room, leaving the three of them to stand over the body. They waited until the sheriff was out of earshot, and relaxed a little.

"So what?" Dean asked, squinting down at the puncture wounds again. "A vamp with a sick sense of humor?"

"Got me," said Sam with a shrug.

"It doesn't even look like a bite mark," Kat observed. She glanced over her shoulder before taking out her phone to take a quick picture of the marks. "I don't know about you, but most of the vampire victims I've encountered don't have this much neck left when they're through."

"Ain't that the truth," said Dean. "But it's gotta be a vamp right? I mean, the dude said that's what he saw."

"You heard the sheriff," Sam said with a shrug. "Maybe he doesn't know what he saw. You can't make a case purely on hearsay. Witnesses aren't always reliable, especially if they're drunk half the time."

"Careful there, Sammy, your Stanford's showing." Dean smirked, giving the corpse one last look before sliding it back in the freezer. "Well, let's see if we can find this guy. Talk to him ourselves."

They headed back through the station, assuring Sheriff Dietrich that they'd be able to find their way back on their own. That was easier said than done, considering how many weirdly narrow backstreets Canonsburg seemed to have. But they did their best to follow the brassy music of the band, and eventually wandered their way back into the town square.

To no one's surprise, the bar was crowded. Almost every table and booth was occupied, and even the waitresses seemed to be having a hard time moving between them. Kat started scanning through patrons, looking for anyone who might meet the description of the witness, but Dean made a beeline for the bar. Or more accurately, for the blonde bar wench they'd seen in the courtyard.

"I remember you," she said, eyeing Dean as they approached.

"And I remember you—Jamie. I never forget a pretty…well, everything."

Kat's skin crawled at Dean's schmoozing smile. Jamie, however, seemed to be flattered, and took the compliment in stride.

"We're looking for Ed Brewer," said Sam, catching her attention.

"What do you want with Ed?"

"Well, we are uh… _federal agents,_ " said Dean, flashing his badge over the bar. "Mr. Brewer was witness to a serious crime. We just…"

"Wait a minute. You're a fed?" The bartender crossed her arms, surprised. Dean shrugged, and her eyes openly raked over him. "Wow. You don't come on like a fed… Seriously?"

Dean chuckled, leaning over the counter and lowering his voice to a husky tone.

"I'm a Maverick, ma'am. A rebel with a badge. One thing I don't play by? _The rules."_

He punctuated this horrible line with a wink, which even Jamie seemed to think was overkill. She shifted uncomfortably, which Kat took as her cue. She grabbed Dean's hand off the bar, pressing her thumb down on a joint and making him wince in pain.

"Maybe you should take it easy there, Young. I don't need to hear you complaining after another mandated sexual harassment course. You'd think you'd have it memorized by now."

He snatched his hand back, shooting her a dirty look, and Sam quickly cleared his throat. "Um, so where can we find Mr. Brewer?"

"Corner booth," said Jamie reluctantly, gesturing across the bar. "He's already a couple drinks in, so…just go easy on him, alright?"

"Of course. Thank you, ma'am."

Sam gave her a curt nod, and Kat did the same. Dean however, hadn't moved, and was still leaning on top of the counter. Sam sighed, and began pushing him in the right direction.

"Come on, Maverick."

They picked their way across the bar, heading toward the booth that Jamie had indicated. Brewer was easy to spot. He was one of the only patrons sitting alone, a beer stein two feet tall on the table in front of him. Kat could instantly see what the sheriff had meant by "eccentric." He had a creepy look about him. There was something about the way he moved his arms—like he'd never learned how to properly connect them to his body. His skin sheened with sweat, and he was staring into space without blinking.

He didn't even seem to notice them approaching. Sam knocked gently on the edge of table, and the man jumped about a foot into the air.

"Easy there, pal," said Dean, fishing out his badge again. "Federal Bureau, Agents Young, Angus and Paige. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Let me see—Let me see that."

Ed beckoned wildly, grabbing the badge out of Dean's hand so he could inspect it. Dean looked affronted, and snatched it back. Ed must have seen enough though, because he beckoned them to take a seat across from him. Kat opted to grab a chair, pulling up to the end of the table and readying her notebook once more.

"You're—You're from the FBI?" Ed asked, looking between them in excitement. "That means they believe me, right? Calling in the big guns."

"A report was filed," said Sam, with a nod. "We've read your statement, but we'd prefer to hear the story from you."

"It's not a story," he said emphatically. "It's the truth!"

"Of course it is, Mr. Brewer." Kat leaned forward in her seat, giving him an encouraging smile. "But normal deputies—they don't pay a sufficient amount of attention to the details. Everything is important. That's why we'd prefer to hear it directly from you."

Ed stared back at her with wide eyes. He fumbled as he reached for his drink, and threw back another deep gulp of beer. A hand wiped over his face, and he fixed them with a steady stare. Or at least, a steadier one.

"I told the cops everything I saw. No one believes me. Why should you be any different?"

"Believe me, Mr. Brewer, we're different," said Dean, clasping his hands on the table.

"I spoke the God's honest truth, and now I'm the town joke."

"Marissa Wright's murder is no joke to us," Sam said firmly. "And we want to hear everything, no matter how strange it may seem."

"We have a lot of experience with strange," Dean added.

He gave Kat a nudge, and she suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. "Please, Mr. Brewer. We'd really appreciate it."

Ed looked skeptically between the three of them, but eventually, he nodded. He took another drink from his stein. He burped. And he gave them a thumbs up.

"It was just after midnight. I just left here, and like I do every night, I cut through the park on my way home. At first, I thought it was a couple kissing. But she was…struggling too much. And this man, he was… Well, he was biting her neck."

"Can you describe her assailant?" asked Sam.

"Oh, he was a vampire."

He nodded certainly, and Dean raised his eyebrows. "Okay, right. And by that, you mean…"

"You know, a vampire."

Ed hissed slightly to illustrate the point. Dean frowned.

"Uh-huh. So, he looked like…"

"Agent Young, maybe you should stop interrupting him," Kat said firmly, throwing up a hand. She scooted forward again, looking at Ed in earnest. "Mr. Brewer, like I said, every little detail counts here. It could be the difference between catching this creature, or letting it walk free. So please, even if it seems redundant, we need to hear it in your words."

"O-Okay. You're right, I'm sorry, uh…" He nodded vigorously, and wiped his face again. "He had fangs—big pointy ones, and I guess they were kinda bloody considering. He had the—the slicked back hair and the fancy cape and the little medallion thing on the ribbon. A vampire."

"You mean like a Dracula?" asked Dean.

"Exactly!" Ed snapped, and smiled in victory. "Like a Dracula! Right down to the accent."

"The accent?" Sam repeated, bemused.

"He spoke to you?" asked Kat.

"Yep. Uh, he noticed I was there and he sorta—he turned around with his cape and said something like, uh, ' _Stay away, mortal! The night is mine!_ '"

No one said anything. Kat knew she probably should. There must be some kind of follow up question to that terrible Romanian accent. She couldn't think of anything. It was unprofessional to stare, but it probably less unprofessional than laughing at him, which was her first instinct.

Dean leaned over, tapping at her notebook. "You should uh…probably write that down."

"You do believe me, don't you?" asked Ed.

Sam must have had a commendable amount of self-control, because he smiled politely.

"Mr. Brewer, you've been a great help," said Dean, patting the table. "I think we've gotten everything we need. If you'll excuse me, I have to…"

He did not finish the excuse before fleeing the table, heading directly back to the bar.

"A-Are you sure?" Ed jumped in his seat, his voice pleading. "Cause—Cause I can remember a whole lot more. I can keep going! He was tall, maybe like six inches taller than she was, and—and he had weird pointy eyebrows! And he sort of glided when he was flying away, so his cape was like _whoosh._ "

"Right, obviously," said Kat, picking up her notebook and closing it firmly. "You sure he didn't turn into a bat?"

"What? No!" Ed glared at her, his hands trembling as he waved his arms. "Look, I am not crazy! Vampirism is—it's real! That's a real thing! Obviously—Obviously _shapeshifters_ aren't! I'm not crazy!"

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Brewer," Sam said curtly. "We'll be sure to contact you if we have any more questions."

He slid out of the booth, gently taking Kat by the elbow and urging her away from the table before she could dig them into a deeper hole.

"So what do you think?" asked Dean once they'd caught up. "Hm? Goth, psycho vampire wannabe, right?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed, leaning against the bar. "Definitely not our kinda case."

"What?" Kat gaped at them. "Wait, what happened to vampire with a sick sense of humor? That's still on the table right? The body was exsanguinated."

"Yeah, but not by a vampire," said Sam. "You said so yourself, the bite looks artificial. It's sick, but humans do that to each other all the time. Brewer probably saw someone dressed like a vampire and filled in the rest."

Dean snorted.

"Yeah, or he found a body with a fake bite mark and made the rest up cause he was high. There's no case here."

"Well there _better be."_

Both boys stopped, blinking at her in surprise. But Kat rounded on Sam, her eyes narrow and her voice dangerously low.

"You mean to tell me that you made me take off of work, dragged me across the country, and forced me to spend hours in the car with you and your dickhead brother, and there isn't even a real case? Cause I'll give you a case. I'm gonna fucking kill you."

Sam looked appropriately terrified, and Dean quickly stepped between them. "Alright, take it easy, sweetheart…"

"Don't fucking touch me. I swear to God—…"

"Kat, I'm sorry," said Sam, quickly pushing Dean out of her reach again. "I honestly thought we were gonna need your help. But—this happens sometimes, right? I mean, haven't you ever worked a dud?"

"No, I haven't. Marcus never sent me out unless he had all the details and knew what I'd be dealing with."

"Well welcome to the real world, princess," said Dean, glaring back at her. "Cases don't get handed out on silver plates, alright? You investigate, you research, and sometimes it don't pan out. Better safe than sorry for a bunch of civilians who got slaughtered in their sleep."

Kat pursed her lips, folding her arms over her chest. "Yeah, well…I don't like blowing money on a plane ticket and a hotel room without a good reason."

"So what? It's a vacation. No offense, but you're so uptight, you probably need one."

"Offense taken."

"Relax, Blondie. Room's paid for, and it's Oktoberfest. Let your hair down a bit."

Dean grinned, pushing off the bar and heading for one of the booths. Sam went after him, giving her one last apologetic look. Without much of an option, Kat followed in tow.

"Yeah, this isn't really my scene," she said, sliding in next to Sam.

"What? You don't like fun?"

"I don't like excessive public drinking."

"So…you don't like fun?" Her glare just made his smile wider, and he turned on Sam instead. "Come on, brother. Oktoberfest—beer and bar wenches."

"Yeah," Sam scoffed, laughing dryly. "Pretty sure women today don't react well to the whole 'wench' thing, Dean."

"Don't be such a baby. You're just sucking up to Kat cause she's mad at you." Dean craned his neck, looking over to the bar and raising his voice. "Hey, bar wench! Where's that beer?"

"Coming up, good sir!" the bartender called back in a high voice.

" _Oktoberfest,_ " Dean repeated, looking disgustingly pleased with himself.

Kat rolled her eyes.

"You get that she's only flirting with you because she has to, right? She gets paid to do a job, and she has to keep customers happy. If I was getting paid by the hour, I wouldn't smack you either."

"That a promise?" asked Dean, with another wink.

Sam snorted, and Kat sunk further back into her seat. This was quickly turning into one of the worst days she'd had in a very long time.

The waitress returned, setting a large mug of beer in front of Dean, and then turning to Sam and Kat with a smile. "And what can I get for you two?"

"Oh, they don't drink," said Dean over Kat's voice. "He's a Christian scientist. Doesn't even take aspirin. And she's—she's just a party pooper. They're kind of a drag on stakeouts."

"Alright," said Kat, leaning over the table, "you speak over me one more time, and I'm gonna kick my foot so far up your ass, you're not gonna be able to speak at all."

"Kat!"

"What?" she asked, looking over at Sam. "If he doesn't have to follow agency protocol, neither do I. I'm fine, Jamie, thank you for asking."

"Okay," she said, giggling. "I like her. She's funny."

"Wha—Well, she—she's not as funny as me," said Dean, and he looked frantically between the two of them. "I'd love the chance to prove it to you. What time do you get off?"

"You know, you're right. You're funny, too."

She smirked, heading back to the bar and leaving Dean to look grumpily after her. It was Kat's turn to look pleased with herself.

"Cockblocker."

"Manwhore."

"Guys!" Sam leaned his elbows on the table, rubbing his temples. "Has it occurred to either of you that no one's gonna take us seriously as federal agents if you two are fighting like middle schoolers?"

"She started it!"

Sam laughed. "Now who's being a baby?"

"Whatever," said Dean. He rolled his shoulders, fixing his gaze back on the bar. "You two do your thing. Me? Man, it is time for me to right some wrongs."

"Come again?"

"Look at me. I came back from the furnace without any of my old scars, right? You know, bullet wounds, knife cuts, none of the off-angled fingers from all the breaks. I mean, my hide is smooth as a baby's bottom. Which leads me to conclude—sadly—that my virginity is intact."

" _What?"_

"I have been re-hymenated."

If it was possible for the human body to convulse itself inside out, Kat was sure hers would have done just that. The pure satisfaction on his face would have been enough. Sam was a bit more composed, spluttering and choking on his own breath.

"Re—Please. Dean, maybe angels could pull you out of Hell, but no one could do _that._ "

"Brother, I have been re-hymenated. And the Dude will not abide." He turned to Kat, sliding his eyes over her figure. "What do you say, Tinkerbell? Wanna go a few rounds? Work out all that frustration?"

"…I'll pass."

"Suit yourself," he shrugged. "I saw you think about it."

"Actually, I was just trying to remember if I've ever heard anything as stupid as _re-hymenated_ in my life." Kat sneered, mocking his shrug. "Congratulations, by the way. I haven't."

Sam chuckled and shook his head.

"Alright, obviously I'm gonna have to split you two up. Dean, you go…do whatever it is you need to do. I'm gonna take Kat back to the hotel and get some sleep."

"Oh yeah, you are. Mhm. You get that _sleep_."

Sam pushed Kat out of the booth before she could pounce at his brother, and forcibly led her out of the bar. "He's just doing it to get a rise out of you."

"Great motive. Still disgusting." Kat forced his hand off her back, picking up her pace as they hit the courtyard. "Don't gaslight me, Sam."

"I'm sorry…"

"And don't apologize! If you were sorry, you'd stop doing it, and that's clearly not something you're interested in doing!"

He followed her across the yard, clearly having no trouble keeping up with her. It only made her more furious.

"Kat, where are you going?"

"Bali," she shot. "I'm going to the hotel, obviously. I need to look into catching a flight home."

"We can't take the Impala."

"Like hell we can't."

"Look, I'll pay for the cab, but we can't take the car, alright? Dean's got the keys."

Kat grunted in frustration and pivoted, heading off down one of the side streets.

"Now where are you going?" asked Sam, defeated.

"I don't know. Just… _somewhere."_

She stormed on, walking until she was sure Sam wasn't following her anymore. And she kept walking after that, knowing that she had no plan of what she was doing or where she was going. All she knew was that it felt good to be brooding openly. Her stony expression startled tourists as she marched past them on her crusade to nowhere, and it felt _good_.

She didn't know what she wanted to do, and at the same time, she knew exactly what she wanted to do. What she wanted was to complain. She wanted to vent her heart out and bitch and not be judged for it. Just for once.

But Kat had no one.

It wasn't a surprise, but the realization still gutted her. There was no Jess. There was no Dad. She could call her mother if she wanted to be scolded for being a child and not playing nice. She could call Harley if she wanted to listen to a rant about how wonderful and polite and sexy Sam Winchester really was. And neither of those options seemed appealing.

More than anything, what she wanted was to call Marcus. She wanted him to tell her what to do. He would tell her the truth about the case she was working. He would tell her exactly how to handle it, step by step. He would give her the world's biggest I-told-you-so for working with the Winchesters, and let her bitch about it until the sun went down.

But there was no Marcus now either.

Kat didn't realize where she'd walked until she was holding the bottle of whiskey in her hand. She walked up to the counter, nodding at the cashier and handing over the money wordlessly. There was some typing, the ding of the register, and the mechanic spit of the printer.

"There you go," the cashier said, sliding her the change. "Military discount."

"Sorry?" Kat raised an eyebrow. "Um…Federal Bureau isn't a military division."

"I know," they said, nodding sagely. "But it seems like you need it."

Kat pocketed the change, and tucked the bottle under her arm.

"You have no idea."


	11. Chapter 11

**TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains brief descriptions of gore, as seen in chapter six. Please proceed with caution.**

* * *

Kat wasn't surprised to find Sam at her door the next morning. She was surprised to find Sam dressed in a suit.

"What's the occasion?"

"Got a call from Dietrich," he said, passing her a brown paper bag. "They found another body."

"Same marks on the neck?"

"Nope."

Kat looked up from where she'd been repacking her duffel bag, eyeing him curiously. " _Actual_ vampire bite?"

"Nope. Suit up. Witness will be waiting for us at Town Square."

"Ugh…that band's not still there, is it?"

"Uh, probably. Why?"

She grumbled under her breath, pinching her nose as she fought off a headache. She'd broken into the whiskey the moment she'd gotten back to the hotel, and everything after that was a blur. That had been the point, of course. But it didn't make the hangover any easier.

"Oh, and Kat?" Sam grabbed something from his jacket and tossed it to her. "You're gonna have to add that yourself. They didn't have any at the deli."

Kat looked down at the discount jar of peanut butter as he backed out of the room. She forced herself to shake her head. She would not be bought so easily.

"You look like shit," Dean said by way of greeting, the moment she got to the car.

"Wow, grumpy. Still a virgin, then?"

"Just get in the damn car."

She smirked, sliding into the back seat and barely closing the door before he peeled out of the parking lot. She slipped the bagel out of her bag and peered over Sam's shoulder at the notes in his lap.

"So who's the vic?"

"Rick Deacon," he said, tapping the top of the page. "Twenty-four, local this time. He and his girlfriend Anne Marie were parked out by the woods last night."

"No doubt getting their hanky-panky on," snorted Dean.

"Yeah, right up until someone or _something_ broke their window and tore him to pieces."

"Tore him to pieces?" Kat repeated skeptically, and Sam nodded.

"I believe the word the sheriff used was 'shredded.'"

"Gross." Kat wrinkled her nose, leaning back in her seat to munch on the bagel. "Well, 'shredded' definitely isn't the same M.O. as faux vampire bites. Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't human psychos usually stick to one signature?"

"You still sound like you walked off a cop show," said Dean. At a disapproving look from Sam, he rolled his eyes. "Usually, yes they do. But they are psychos, so. We go check it out, see if it's the same deal as Marissa Wright. Better safe than sorry."

It was a testament to her headache and not her self-restraint that Kat didn't reply.

They parked in the same place as the day before. The same crowds greeted them, the same band playing the same songs. Kat's head threatened to split down the middle, but she suffered in silence—if only to avoid Dean's inevitable shit about holding her liquor.

They followed Sam and made a beeline for one of the garden tables in the corner of the courtyard. A young girl was sitting alone, drinking from a soda cup larger than her own head. She waved happily when she spotted them. Pretty unperturbed for a murder witness.

"Miss Bink," Sam greeted courteously, with a flash of his badge. "I'm Agent Angus, and these are my partners Agents Young and Paige. Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with us this morning."

"Mhm." She nodded, the straw still in her mouth as she gripped the cup with both hands.

Dean was already looking skeptical as he pointed to the other chairs. "May uh…May we join you?"

"Mhm."

They all took a seat, shifting a bit as they waited for Anne Marie to finish her soda. Kat pulled out her notebook and clicked her pen a few times. Dean flattened his tie and perused the other inhabitants of the courtyard. Sam tucked his badge away, twice. And still Anne Marie slurped from her drink.

Kat cleared her throat impatiently.

"Ma'am, do you think you'd be able to tell us what happened?"

"Oh sure!" The girl put down her soda, and clasped her hands together in her lap. "Well, Rick and I went out to the woods after the movies last night, just like we always do."

"Always, huh?" Dean asked, and the amusement in his voice was unmistakable.

"Pretty much. I don't really like it out there—kind creepy, you know? But Rick says that it's really romantic."

"And you just go along with it?" asked Kat, flatly.

"It's not with fighting over," said Anne Marie with a shrug. "Rick and I had only been dating a couple months, and he really was a nice guy. He was just kinda pushy when it came to… _you know_ … Everyone knows someone like that, you know?"

"Trust me. I know."

Kat ignored the dirty look that Dean threw her way. Sam must have sensed trouble, because he quickly caught the girl's attention.

"Miss Bink, when did you realize that something was wrong?"

"Well, we were… _you know_ …and I made Rick stop cause I kept hearing this noise. He said I was making it up to get out of it, but I was so sure. It sounded like howling. And then I heard it again, and he was getting mad at me, and then…bam!" Anne Marie nodded sagely, and grabbed her soda again. She seemed to think that 'bam' conveyed the true detail of the event, because she only resurfaced a few seconds later to add, "And then it just—it just tore Rick into little pieces."

"It?" asked Kat, and the girl nodded. "What was it?"

Anne Marie didn't respond at first, and Dean leaned forward slightly in his seat. "Ma'am, we understand how hard this must be for you, but can you describe the creature?"

"Oh!" She seized her drink again, slurping for a minute before she nodded gravely again. "It was a werewolf."

"A werewolf?" Sam repeated. "You're sure?"

"Oh yeah. With the furry face and the black nose and the claws and the torn up pants and shirt. Like from the old movies."

Kat wasn't sure what she had expected. She didn't think the girl was joking, but at the same time she seemed to be so unapologetically sure of herself. There was no defensive attitude, no "I know it sounds crazy but it's true." She just stared innocently at the three of them, waiting for one of them to make a move.

"Okay, so…" Dean glanced at each of them before smiling politely. "Thank you for your time."

"Mhm!"

She picked up the soda again, and the three of them quickly backed out of the town square. They waited until they were on a side street, headed for the station, then dropped the professional air instantly. Dean let out a low whistle as they walked.

"Alright, we are definitely in Crazyville."

"I don't know, Dean," said Sam with a shrug. "I mean, she doesn't seem crazy."

"Dude. She saw her boyfriend get ripped to pieces less than twenty-four hours ago, and she's sitting at Oktoberfest slurping on a Coke. That shit is not normal."

"Maybe she's just in shock," Kat suggested. "Anyone seeing that kind of carnage for the first time would be."

"Right. That look like carnage-shocked PTSD to you?" Dean raised his eyebrows, imitating the irritating slurping sound. "There is something way off about her."

"Alright, say she is crazy," offered Sam. "Did she kill her own boyfriend? And why say werewolf? If you were gonna jump on the bandwagon to cover up a crime, wouldn't you stick with the vampire to keep it believable?"

"Well, yeah, that's what _I'd_ do," said Dean. "But I'm not crazy. Maybe she figured, you know, why not go bigger and better? No one's gonna be talking about Ed's vampire if her boyfriend was torn up by a werewolf. Little Miss Anne Marie is the new star of the show. Or— _Or_ she does it so people stop bugging Ed. He said he was the new town joke. Maybe they're two jokes in love. Her real boy toy clearly wasn't a charmer."

"Right," said Kat, with a snort. "You know, I might sound like a cop show, but at least I don't sound like a soap."

"I do not sound—That's not a soap."

"Really? She murdered her boyfriend and framed a _werewolf_ because deep down she wanted to be with the sweaty town creep with the stalker facial hair? _Mhm_."

"What? It's a motive, right? Humans are crazy, man. I don't understand them."

"Clearly."

"The bottom line," Sam said loudly, "is that we won't know anything until we see the body. If it's a bunch of staged scratch marks like Marissa's body, that's one thing. If not, maybe we've got something we should actually be looking into. That's not a cliché murder mystery."

He gave them a stern look, and held the precinct door open for Kat.

A very haggard Sheriff Dietrich was waiting for them in the lobby. He was swarmed by fellow deputies, nurses, and several concerned parents. He looked hopefully over them, and seemed to be attempting to direct the crowd's questions over to them, but Dean simply waved and hurried them through the back to the morgue.

"My favorite thing about not really being a federal agent is not having to deal with that bull."

"Really?" Sam asked with a laugh. "That's your _favorite_ thing?"

"Eh, well. It's definitely a perk. Right up with no regulations and no paperwork."

Kat rolled her eyes, brushing past them so she could check out the labels on each of the freezers. When she found the correct one, she beckoned them closer, and slid the body bag out of its hole.

It was not a body. At least, not something Kat would ever consider a body. This was soup, guts, remains, hardly held together by the sinew that had been functional in life. It was blood and decay and gore. And Kat could only stare down in horror.

"Damn," said Dean, squinting down into the bag.

"Alright." Sam let out a long breath, pulling a pencil out of his coat so he could poke at the guts. "Whatever did this wasn't a psycho wannabe. Look at those bite marks. Right down to the bone—and deeper."

"Strong enough to tear a healthy man apart limb from limb," Dean agreed. "Could be a werewolf."

"Yeah, except, look. Heart's still there in one piece. They never leave the heart behind."

"Thus I reiterate. What the hell is going on?"

"I was hoping you boys could tell me." Sheriff Dietrich strolled through the door, still looking run down as he held up a folder for them to see. "I just got a rush job back from the lab on those fibers we found on the body. Canine. Wolf hairs."

Sam and Dean glanced at each other hesitantly. That wasn't right.

"I'm getting a headache," said Dean, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I thought there weren't any wolves in Pennsylvania," said Sam, turning back to the sheriff.

"There's not. Least, not in my known mind. But I can't see any other good explanation for it. Never seen a wolf in-state, and never seen a wolf that could do that much damage to a man."

"Yeah, or pull him out of his own car," Dean added with a nod.

"You boys must see this all the time, right? I mean, these crazy kinda deaths? So…is someone planting hairs like this to keep with some kind of monster theme? Some sort of cult member?"

"It's possible, sir," Sam said with a nod. "Um…if you wouldn't mind getting us a copy of that report, there's a few calls we'd like to make back to Quantico. Specialists who might be able to tell us more about the typical kind of offender we're looking for."

"Of course, of course. Anything you could do." He nodded, peering past Sam with a concerned expression. "You alright there, Miss?"

Sam turned to look at Kat for the first time. She hadn't moved since she'd opened the freezer. Her eyes were still fixed on the contents of the body bag, and one hand was resting on the edge of the tray. He noticed that it was trembling slightly.

He reached over, tapping her hand gently, but her head whipped up with wide eyes.

"Yeah, I—Sorry, I—just have to…"

She sped out the door, not looking back at any of them. There was a heavy silence left behind as Dietrich stared curiously at the two of them. Dean forced out a chuckle.

"Newbies, am I right?"

"Young, why don't you get a copy of that report? I'll check on Paige and meet up with you for the…briefing."

"Right, yeah. Usual?"

"Yeah, thanks."

Sam nodded to the baffled sheriff and hurried out the door.

It took him a while to find her. She'd certainly booked it out of there. Kat was already on the other side of the building, leaning heavily against the wall outside an interrogation room. Her fingers were gripping at her hair, and her chest heaved with uneven breaths—both things that she tried to hide when she noticed Sam coming around the corner.

"H-Hey, sorry, I just uh…I was just…"

"Kat, it's fine. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, just…you know, gore gets to me sometimes—I just wanted some fresh air, or…"

"Kat." He stepped closer and raised a hand, stopping just short of touching her shoulder. "You don't have to explain yourself. I get it."

The eyes that looked up at him were wide and panicked. She nodded, once and again, and wiped a hand over her forehead. Her back sank to the wall. Sam watched in concern.

"This is about Marcus, right?"

That seemed to surprise her, but Sam offered a wry smile.

"You've been hunting for two years. I know that's not the worst thing you've seen, and that wasn't the reaction to a random body that's been mauled. That was personal. I saw some of the hunters that the Witnesses got to. That had to be rough."

Her eyes glared at the tiled floor, one heel tapping as though she intended to shatter it. He thought he might have overstepped some unspoken boundary. But eventually she spoke, in a quiet voice.

"There was just…so much blood. I've seen blood before, but his chest…it just wasn't there anymore. And the whole time I was cleaning it up, his eyes were open, just watching me. I couldn't close them because I couldn't touch the body, and I couldn't stop thinking about…about how it felt like one huge 'I told you so.' Like he was lying there saying, 'I always told you this might happen, and you didn't believe me. Now I'm dead, and you have to figure it out on your own. Again.' Even when I was wrapping the body, I half expected him to sit up and tell me I was doing it wrong."

"I'm sure you did fine," Sam assured her. "It's never easy."

"Yeah, I guess you'd know, huh?"

It hurt, but not as much as it should have. Mostly because, for the first time in days, Kat was smiling. It wasn't a jab. It was commiserating.

"Yeah, I do," he said, laughing humorlessly. "Dean, Dad, then Dean again. And again. God, I don't know how many times he's died at this point. Thank God I never had to burn him when we were stuck in that time loop."

"You were stuck in a time loop?"

"Uh, yeah. Long story, but…the point is, I get it. You lost someone close to you, and you went through it alone. There's gonna be fall out. But if you need to talk about it, you can. And…if you wanna stew in silence with someone and not talk about it, I'm pretty familiar with that too."

"God," Kat sighed, running a hand through her hair again. "Dean's gonna give me hell for this, isn't he?"

"Dean? No," said Sam, knowing full-well that it was a very likely possibility. "He knows the job is tough. It gets to us too sometimes. There are some lines even Dean won't cross."

"I find that kind of hard to believe."

"Yeah, I know." He smiled, and gestured vaguely down the hallway. "Look, we were gonna grab lunch at the bar, go over the reports that Dietrich just handed over. Do you feel alright to come, or should I…?"

"No I'm good. I was being stupid. I want to work."

She nodded firmly, and walked past him toward the exit. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her that she wasn't being stupid, and it was normal. But he had a feeling that would be too many emotions for her. So he let her lead the way back to the bar, going over the few details Dietrich had divulged while she'd been shell shocked.

The bar was even more crowded at lunchtime, but Dean had saved them two seats at a high table on the far side of the restaurant. Sam was a bit surprised to see him halfway through a burger already, but not as surprised as he was to see his own burger waiting for him, a beer, a water, and another giant pretzel.

"Fast service," he remarked as he took a seat across from his brother. "You flag Jamie down again?"

"Nah, the brunette one. I think she likes me too," said Dean, grinning around a mouthful of food. He washed it down with some beer, and looked over at Kat. Sam could see him checking her over, hesitant as he decided the best way to proceed. He fixed his eyes back on his burger with a casual shrug. "The water and pretzel's for you, Blondie. Didn't know what you'd want."

"Oh, um…yeah. Thanks."

"You good?"

"Fine."

Dean nodded, and with another bite of his burger, moved past the subject.

"So I looked over that report Dietrich gave us. Seems legit. Actual, legitimate wolf hairs left all over the mangled corpse that was Rick Deacon. So how the hell do you explain that?"

"They've gotta be plants, right?" asked Kat, ripping off a piece of her pretzel. "Maybe the sheriff was right. If it was some psycho fixating on old films, he might be dressing up the crimes to be like different movies."

"Yeah, except no human is leaving behind claw marks that can cut into bone," said Sam. "That's a little harder to stage than vamp bites. And those wounds, I mean—there was no pattern, no striation, so that's not even a traditional weapon. Something that random, I'd say it had to be some kind of creature."

"So where does that leave us?" asked Dean. "Marissa Wright and Rick Deacon were two isolated incidents and we've got a psycho human and a rabid super-critter running around rural Pennsylvania?"

"Maybe."

"Can't be." Kat shook her head firmly. "The witness statements were way too similar for that to be a coincidence. I mean, a psycho killer and a super critter that both like to dress up in old Hollywood costumes, but don't actually have anything to do with each other?"

"Also a good point," Sam sighed, and Dean nodded.

"I don't know, man. Looks like we've stumbled onto a midnight showing of _Dracula Meets Wolfman._ Is that it?"

"I don't know. I mean, Wolf Man seems real enough. It makes Dracula seem a little less impossible, I guess."

"Yeah, but werewolves don't grow wolf hair. That's just a myth."

"Is it, though?" asked Kat. "I mean, no werewolf I've ever met has, but that doesn't mean they're not out there. What if there's some old, rare strain of the werewolf virus that has symptoms closer to the ones in the movies? Every myth has a basis in fact, right? Wolf hair, silver bullet, calling a werewolf by their given name, poisonous wolfsbane…"

"Wow," said Dean, frowning in thought. "I really did not peg you as a _Teen Wolf_ groupie."

Kat promptly flipped him off.

"Alright, but even if these things are real," said Sam, waving a hand. "Even if there are some…weird versions of these creatures that lineup with old Hollywood movies, what are the chances of them both showing up in a town this small?"

"Not enough to bet on," said Dean. "A vampire and a werewolf meeting up to monster mash the town?"

He shook his head, looking discouraged for a moment before he perked right up in his seat. Sam wasn't sure why he'd bothered hoping that it's been a thought about the case.

Jamie the waitress had reappeared, carrying three mugs of beer and placing them on the edge of the table. "Looks like you guys are staying a while. I heard about Rick Deacon."

"Yeah," Dean said gravely. "This case just got weird enough for, uh, our department."

"Well, the beers are on me," she said, smiling at Sam and Kat. "Even for those of you who might not drink."

"Oh, I'm—I'm really fine," said Kat, patting the top of her water glass. "Thank you, though."

"Suit yourself." She picked up the extra mug, and almost walked away, but doubled back with a glance at Dean. "And, just so you know, I get off at midnight tonight."

"Oh, it's not another girls night out?"

"Doesn't have to be," she said, sounding hopeful. "But if you've changed your mind—Agent Paige, you're always welcome to join us. Lucy'd love to have you."

Sam snorted at the look on Dean's face. However, to his surprise, Kat finally took pity on him.

"I appreciate the offer, but I've still got a lot of reports to do. I'm still a probationary field agent, so I don't have as much leeway as Senior Supervisory Special Agent Young over here."

"Ooh, a senior agent?" Jamie repeated with a laugh.

"What? Well, uh…" Dean recovered, and shook off his shoulders importantly. "Well, yeah. I don't…normally like to brag about it. But if you're free, then I absolutely will. And I will see you tonight."

"Okay then."

She hurried away with a wide smile, her skirt bouncing behind her. Sam shook his head as Dean's eyes zeroed in on the hem, but he looked up sooner than he normally would have. Instead, he turned to Kat with a disbelieving eye.

"Senior Supervisory Special Agent?"

"Yup," she said with a shrug. "If I were you, I'd stop picking on the cop show thing."

"What, so now you're my wingman?" he asked suspiciously. "What happened to 'she's only flirting with you because she's getting paid'?"

"Hey, if she wants to get involved with you, that's her choice and her funeral. I've got my own room, so you can do whatever you want. Her room, your room—so long as I don't have to hear about it."

"I…will absolutely take that deal." Dean shrugged, happily picking up his new beer. "Maybe you know how to have fun after all, Tinkerbell."

She was glowering again, but the damage had already been done. Dean was positively beaming, and with the promise of a date on the horizon, Sam knew that he was going to be insufferable for the rest of the night. Even if he didn't share the details, or say anything explicit—which was already going to be a stretch—his boundless positivity would be enough to drive Kat up the wall.

He didn't need to be a psychic to see where this was going. They would finish their beers and head to the library. Dean would probably pick up more alcohol along the way, and tease Kat when she refused. She'd yell about how he wasn't taking the case seriously. Dean would make a joke about his 'work hard, play hard' policy, and there was upwards of a sixty percent chance it would be followed by a sex joke. Kat would brood, Dean would laugh, and if Sam was just lucky enough, he might manage not to land himself in the middle. Kat would storm out with her library books to go research in her own room, even though she didn't really know what she was doing, and Dean would be too pleased with himself for causing a scene to focus on researching any of their out-there theories. He'd talk about his date, maybe leave Sam in peace to go watch some porn, but Sam would wind up doing all the research until he found something relevant—or another body dropped.

Sam took a long sip of his beer. It was going to be a very long evening.


	12. Chapter 12

_The story is told in epistolary format, as a series of letters, diary entries, newspaper articles, and ships' log entries, whose narrators are the novel's protagonists, and occasionally supplemented with newspaper clippings relating events not witnessed directly. The events portrayed in the novel take place chronologically and largely in England and Transylvania during the 1880s…_

Plink.

 _Dracula is indirectly shown to be stalking Lucy Westenra, who is holidaying in Whitby. As time passes, she begins to suffer from episodes of sleepwalking and dementia, as witnessed by her friend Mina Murray, the fiancée of Jonathan Harker…_

Plink.

 _When Lucy begins to waste away suspiciously, Seward invites his old teacher, Abraham Van Helsing, who immediately determines the true cause of Lucy's condition…_

Plink.

Plink.

Plink.

"Would you stop fucking around!"

Dean responded to this by throwing another piece of popcorn at Kat's face, and spluttering with laughter when it caught in her hair. She threw the laptop aside, springing up from her chair and advancing on him. He had been lying on his own bed, an old book in his lap that he hadn't looked at in twenty minutes, but he quickly scooted up into a sitting position, his hands up in surrender.

"Hey, hey, don't look at me! Sam threw the first two!"

This was a ridiculous lie, and it would have been even if Sam had bothered to defend himself. As it was, he had made it very clear he wanted no part of their arguments. For the past three hours, he had been studying with his headphones in, not responding to questions, requests, name calling, or stray pieces of popcorn.

"Besides, it's not like you're working," Dean huffed, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, I am!"

"Right, you're on the Dracula Wikipedia page. Tough study."

"Classic horror movies are the only link we've been able to find between these murders! None of which I have seen, thank you. So yes, I consider becoming familiar with the source material to be working. It's a lot more useful than sharpening your machete for the third time or throwing popcorn around the room."

"I wouldn't have to sharpen anything if you'd brought your own damn weapons."

"I was on a plane! The TSA doesn't let you check machetes in your fucking carry ons!"

"Well now you know why I drive everywhere, huh?"

"Oh really? So it doesn't have anything to do with you not having legal ID, enough money for a plane ticket, or your crippling fear of flying?"

"Wha—I—No, I—I do not have a fear of flying!"

"Aw, poor Dean. He can plow through a field of demons, but he has nightmares about airplane turbulence."

"Shut the hell up! Sam, I can't believe you told this bitch that…!"

Sam held up a hand, silencing the both of them. Unbeknownst to either of them, Sam's phone had been ringing on the mattress for the last minute. Sam pulled out his headphones and swiped it up.

"Angus. …Really? …No, absolutely. Thanks for the heads up. You got an address? …Alright, yeah. We'll meet you there." He scribbled something down on the notepad next to him, and ended the call with a heavy sigh. "I've never been so happy about a murder in my life."

"Another body?" asked Dean, already swiping up his coat.

"Yeah, local museum. So if you two are done sniping, we've got work to do."

"Yeah, Tinkerbell. Stop sniping."

Kat shoved Dean out of her way, storming out into the hallway with her badge and notepad in hand.

He'd been driving her up the wall. Miraculously, he'd managed to hold up his end of the bargain as far as not talking about his date with Jamie. However, it seemed to be taking him so much effort that he had to divert his energy into finding literally every other way of annoying her—blasting his crappy, overplayed music, talking over her whenever she thought she'd found something interesting, whistling, humming, throwing popcorn, and generally refusing to close his mouth for longer than it took for him to swallow his food.

If she didn't get some distance soon, the fourth body was going to be Dean Winchester's.

The Canonsburg Museum of American History wasn't big enough to really be called a museum, in Kat's opinion. It was just a small Victorian house with a couple rooms of replica diary entries that talked about the founding of the United States. On a normal day, she doubted if they'd get more than two people blowing through. But by the time they arrive, the place was swarmed with deputies and crime scene workers, all buzzing around in taboo excitement.

They followed the crowd around to the back loading dock. Cameras were clicking incessantly, twenty voices murmuring over each other in confusion. Sheriff Dietrich emerged from the chaos, extracting himself from a conversation with the coroner to greet them. If he'd looked haggard before, now the man was at wit's end.

"What happened?" asked Sam, nodding toward the building.

"To who?" added Dean.

"Karl Ronneheim, night security guard. Strangulated, by the looks of it. A little under an hour ago."

"Under an hour?" Kat asked, pulling out her notepad. "Pretty quick turn around."

"He was on the phone at the time. Doctor Neil Gadsmer, owns the museum. He said Karl called about some strange delivery, and then he must have dropped the phone. He heard gunshots, screaming—that's when he went ahead and called us."

"Gunshots?" Sam repeated. "Did Ronneheim get a shot?"

"I…I don't know," Dietrich sighed, wiping his face. "His gun was found next to the body, three rounds fired, but we haven't been able to find any of the bullets yet."

"So…he got him?" asked Dean.

"Can't've. No blood on the scene. What kinda criminal gets shot three times and doesn't bleed?"

They all exchanged a look. That was a pretty daunting question. Most supernatural creatures wouldn't be fatally wounded by normal bullets, but to simply not bleed was something else entirely.

Kat scribbled that thought down before she pushed it away.

"You said something about a strange shipment?" she asked. "Did you recover any information about that?"

She'd been hoping to steer the conversation into more reasonable ground, but if anything, the question seemed to make the sheriff even more exasperated.

"Not a damn clue," he said, shaking his head. "See for yourself."

He beckoned them over, leading them through the swarm, past the "Authorized Personnel" signs, and into the back of the building. Karl's body was still lying against the wall, his eyes wide with shock and his neck purple with bruises. His phone and gun lay discarded, with evidence tags propped next to each. And on the other side of the room, there was a sarcophagus. A very real, ancient looking sarcophagus, with Egyptian symbols carved into the stone, cobwebs stretched over the surface. The heavy lid had been pushed open, and an ominous fog poured out from its depths.

"That…doesn't look like it belongs in an American history museum."

Dean cocked his head in agreement, and turned back to the sheriff. "You got security footage of the area?"

"Techs are working on it now. We've got some cameras outside, but not much of this angle. Anyway, uh, feel free to have a look around. If you'll excuse me, I've gotta finish up with the coroner."

He nodded to them, and backed away towards the crowd surrounding Karl's body. Kat followed Sam and Dean over to the sarcophagus, every one of them frowning.

"What do you think it says?" asked Dean, squinting at the strange symbols. "Some kinda curse? All those who eat Twinkies on the job shall perish?"

"Alright, vampires I get," said Sam. "Werewolves, sure, but…mummies?"

"I don't know, dude. I'm starting to think we walked into the _Twilight Zone._ "

"Okay, so mummies aren't real," said Kat, glancing around to ensure no one was listening. "But reanimation is, right? I mean there are ghosts and revenants and…I don't know. Other things. It's gotta be dead if it can't bleed."

"Yeah, except it came out of a freaking sarcophagus!" Dean pointed out angrily. "What Ancient Egyptian is gonna have unfinished business with Hapless Security Guard Number Three in small town Pennsylvania?"

"First question," said Sam, "how the hell did a sarcophagus end up in small town Pennsylvania in the first place?"

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a mag light and stepping forward to get a better look at the lid. Dean pulled out his own flashlight to inspect the inside. Kat frowned grumpily, resorting to copying some of the larger symbols into her notepad.

A minute later, Sam resurfaced, holding up a small card for Dean and Kat to see.

"This sarcophagus isn't ancient. It's from a prop house in Philly."

"Well," sighed Dean, reaching inside the crate, "it goes well with the bucket of dry ice he was keeping in it."

"Special effects?" Kat asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Yeah, a mummy with a good sense of showmanship."

"But for who? He killed Karl, there isn't gonna be any security footage. There aren't even any crazy witnesses to pass along the story."

Sam frowned, looking around the room at the various deputies hopping around.

"This…is stupid."

"Lemme see that," said Kat, reaching for Dean's mag light.

He snatched it out of her reach, glaring. "Hey! Get your own, Probie."

"Oh, well excuse me. It was a midnight case run. I didn't exactly have time to grab my go bag."

"Midnight…? Oh damn it. Jamie. I'm late." He tossed her the flashlight, scrambling to his feet and straightening his jacket. "You're good here with the mummy and the—the crazy…?"

"Yeah, go," said Sam, nodding quickly.

Dean grinned, tossing him the car keys and hightailing it out of the building.

Kat rolled her eyes, but Sam shrugged at her with a knowing smile. "Hey, you wanted him gone. He's gone."

"Still. He always leave you to do the heavy-lifting while he's getting laid?"

"Nine times out of ten. But he pulls through. Besides, we've got a fake sarcophagus and a bucket of dry ice. I don't think that can be considered heavy lifting."

"Yeah, along with a perp that doesn't bleed, one that can bite through bone, and one that shops at Party City."

"Point taken," said Sam, nodding. "I guess that means it's back to the books."

"I _hate_ the books."

"Yeah, I know," he snorted, patting her on the shoulder.

They took a few more notes around the scene, then bid the sheriff goodbye until the morning. They'd take a closer look at the body and talk to the doctor then, once everyone had gotten some rest. In the meantime, they would be making "calls" to their "specialists." In other words, they would go back to the hotel, change into some normal clothes, and Kat would get back on her Wikipedia page.

"So," she said, sliding into the passenger seat of the Impala, "just to recap. We've got three victims with no age, class or incident pattern, and three completely different causes of death."

"Exsanguination, asphyxiation, and…mauling, I guess. Two of which could have been staged by humans and one that definitely wasn't."

"Two?" Kat asked, glancing up from her notebook. "But what about the bullets? I mean, if the guy wasn't bleeding…"

"We don't know that for sure. For all we know, the bullets are still in there, or the person cleaned up after themselves before they left."

"Right. Cause it seems real rational to stage your murder as a cursed mummy attack."

"People are crazy," Sam said with a shrug.

Kat bit her lip. She wrote it down in the book.

As Sam drove them back to the motel, she flipped through the pages, reviewing her notes by the light of the street lamps. It seemed pointless. Most of them were just as unintelligible as the crime scenes themselves, just groups of words that didn't make much sense when they were put together. She'd just started to feel secure in her status as a hunter. Now, riding with the Winchesters, she wasn't so sure.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Sam glanced over at her in surprise. "Uh, sure. Go for it."

"Are all your cases this weird?"

"Lately?" he said, laughing a bit. "Yeah, it feels like it."

"I don't know how you do it," she sighed. She leaned her head against the glass, barely able to see the trees whipping by in the darkness. "Maybe your brother's right. I'm just not ready for this kinda shit."

"What? No! Kat, that's—that's not what he thinks. That's not what anybody thinks."

"Come on, Sam. I saw the two of you arguing at the airport. I'm not an idiot. And maybe I don't like to admit it, but I know when I'm out of my depth. And right now, I…I have no clue what's going on here."

"Well, you're in good company," said Sam. "Dean can talk, but we don't have any idea what's going on with this case either."

"So what do we do?" Kat picked up her head, turning back to him in earnest. "I mean, do we—do we just wait for another body to drop? Do we chase our tails until one of us dies? Or do we just…give up and keep moving?"

"Sometimes you have to. Not all cases have happy endings. If the trail goes cold…you just gotta put it down and find someplace you can actually help people."

She frowned, falling back on the window. "Well, I hate that."

"That's cause you like helping people," he said, a small smile in his voice. "But I wouldn't worry about that just yet. Actually, with this last body, we've got a lot more to go on."

"We have _more_ to go on? All I see is another body and another crime scene that makes absolutely no sense."

"Well, maybe you have to start thinking differently."

"Sam, I'm a hunter," Kat spat, whipping around. "And I'm _barely_ a hunter, at that. Marcus would just give me the details and send me out. I'm not good at this whole…espionage thing. I don't figure things out. I'm not a detective."

"No, you're an FBI agent." She glared at him, and Sam chuckled sheepishly. "Seriously, Kat. You figure things out all the time. Just try thinking of it like you would with the gym or something."

"My self-defense gym?" she asked skeptically.

"Your business. Come on."

Kat rolled her eyes, but sat up straight in her seat. She focused her eyes through the windshield, feebly trying to push her frustration aside. Sam's mock-calming voice didn't make it any easier.

"Just keep going with what you said before. We've got three different victims, killed three different ways, which most likely means…?"

"Three different monsters."

"Right—vampire, werewolf, and mummy. Except…?"

"…mummies aren't real?"

"Okay, sure. And that probably means that…?"

"…our next killer is Frankenstein?"

"Kat…"

"Fine," she groaned, pushing herself up in her seat. "What does it mean if mummies aren't real?"

"That it's not a mummy," said Sam. "Do you remember what we were saying at lunch before? About a movie-fanatic vampire and werewolf ending up in the same town?"

"No chance."

"Exactly—unless it's not a vampire, a werewolf, and a mummy."

"You think it's all one thing?" asked Kat. "Even though they're all different signatures?"

"They're not, though. They're all classic horror movies—he just doesn't want to repeat himself. That's more of a signature than anything else."

"Alright, so…where does that leave us? Some kind of creature that's got the brains to stage a crime scene, the crazy to _want_ to stage a crime scene, and enough super strength to claw through a man's ribs? _And_ it doesn't bleed after being shot repeatedly? You got me, Sam. What the hell is it?"

"I don't know. But we've got a good place to start."

He took his eyes off the road for a moment, nodding to the notebook that sat in her lap. Kat bit back a groan as she picked it up. The notes did not make any more sense now than they had at the beginning of their conversation. If anything, she felt more confused and stupid than she had at the start. She didn't want to reread her stupid notes. They hadn't found anything useful at the last crime scene, and she had already looked over…

"The prop house," she said suddenly, staring down at the page. "He's staging the crime scenes. He's _getting_ the props somewhere! So if we call the prop house in Philly…"

"Then we can find out if they're missing a sarcophagus. Exactly."

"So he either stole it, and we can look at security footage, or he actually rented it, which means there'll be a paper trail. Even if it's a pseudonym it gives us something to go on."

"What did I tell you?"

Sam was grinning, looking over at her with something like pride in his eyes. Kat caught her own smile and forced it down, rolling her eyes to distract from the momentary lapse of judgement.

"Oh shut up," she said as they pulled into the hotel parking lot. "You college kids are all so snobby."

"Kat," he laughed, "you _went_ to college."

"Yeah, but you went to _Stanford._ " She climbed out of the Impala, waving her hands and putting on a high voice. "Oh look at me! I'm a fancy law student and I'm gonna be a lawyer and I know how to use the Socratean method!"

"Actually, it's Socratic."

"And that is exactly why I don't like talking to you." Kat snapped her fingers and pointed to him before she turned her back. "I'll look up the number for the prop house and call them in the morning. Right now I've got a date with some Wikipedia pages."

It was a relief to get back to her own room at the end of a long day. Her bag was still half packed on the end of her bed. She looked over it with fleeting regret. She'd been furious to find out there wasn't a case, obviously, but at the same time she'd felt justified. She'd be able to escape the Winchesters, and have an even better reason for not picking up the phone next time around. Now there was a case again, and she was surprised to find herself torn. She liked working. She liked hunting. She liked helping people. But she liked doing it most when things were on her terms, and she knew what she was doing. Neither of those things seemed to apply anymore. Her impromptu vacation might not have been a waste, but she certainly wasn't enjoying herself.

Kat pulled out her phone, sending her mother a quick update about her status. Yes, everything was fine. They were three bodies in, had at least one solid lead, and she still hated the boys as much as she had when she'd left California. The case was too weird to get into over text, but she'd do her best to explain everything when she got home. Whenever that might be.

She pinned her hair up and jumped in for a quick shower. It felt good to ease the tension in her shoulders, even better to trade her business attire for a tank top and a worn pair of jeans. Back in her element, she collapsed on the bed, pulling her laptop toward her so she could return to the feeble kind of research she'd been doing earlier. And the moment she got comfortable, there was a knock on her door.

Kat groaned, heaving herself out of bed again. She wasn't surprised to see Sam, freshly changed into his normal clothes. She was taken aback by the anxiety on his face.

"What's wrong?"

"Dean," he said simply holding up his phone. "Apparently Dracula decided to crash his date with Jamie."

"Are they alright?"

"Yeah, but we gotta go. Like now."

This time, she did not argue. She grabbed her bag, and promptly followed Sam out the door.

It took them half the time it normally did to get to Town Square. The car screamed down dark, empty streets, and bumped into the curb barely a few minutes later. Kat had to scramble to keep up with Sam's long strides as he crossed the courtyard to the bar, bursting in without hesitation.

It was strange to see it so empty—no music, no chatter. There was only one occupied booth. Dean and Jamie were both sitting in their seats from the previous day, a bottle of liquor between them. Jamie looked shaken, staring at the glass between her hands. Dean, however, looked calm as ever. His hair was a bit tousled, and his tie was askew, but besides that there were no signs of a fight.

"Hey," he called, nodding as they jogged over to the table.

"You guys alright?" asked Sam.

"Yeah, I think so. And I think I know what's going on."

"Yeah?"

"Part of it, at least."

Dean reached farther into the booth, pulling out a folded towel and dropping it on the table in front of them. He pushed it toward Sam, who opened it without hesitation—only to gag when he saw the contents. It was an ear, torn flesh still attached, hairs from the scalp still peaking around the edges. It glistened in the low light, wet with some kind of goop Kat was glad she was not familiar with.

Everyone but Dean flinched in disgust.

"Alright, I'm—I'm clearly missing a few pieces here," said Kat, shaking her head. "What exactly happened to you two?"

"I bumped into Jamie on my way to the bar," said Dean with a frown, clearly displeased about having to backtrack. "But she was being followed. By Dracula."

"Ed's Dracula?"

"I hope so, otherwise there's two psychos running around in that nasty get up. Anyway, I told Jamie to split, the Count and I duked it out, and then he hopped a fence sped off on a freaking moped. The ear I ripped off his head in the fight. Touch it."

"Dude," said Sam, shaking his head. "No."

"Baby," Dean scoffed. He pushed the towel towards Kat. "Come on, Probie."

Kat grimaced, and did her best to hide her shaky breath. Hesitantly, she reached forward and poked at the ear. It was disgusting—at least twice as disgusting as she'd expected. The unknown slime was bad enough, but the worst part was that the ear did not feel like an ear. It didn't feel like any flesh she'd ever touched in her life. It was too soft to be cartilage, too soft to be a prosthetic. She felt like if she poked too hard, the whole thing might liquefy under her hand.

"That—That is disgusting," she gagged, wiping her hand off on the towel. "What the hell is that?"

Dean pushed the towel back to Sam, who reluctantly felt it as well. After a moment, his revulsion turned to recognition.

"Oh, man."

"Skin of a shapeshifter," said Dean. "Just like St. Louis and just like Milwaukee."

"I'm sorry, a what?" asked Kat, looking back and forth between the two of them. "You can't be serious."

"As a heart attack, sweetheart. Shifters are actually pretty common, but you don't hear about 'em too much cause they start off human. Then when they're kids, or adults, or whenever, this starts to happen," he paused, jiggling the ear on the towel, "and suddenly they can be whoever they wanna be. Your folks, your friends, your favorite movie characters. Of course, this one's all holding buckets of crazy."

"We've dealt with a few in the past," Sam explained. "Murder spree and then a bank robbery."

"Of course. Just…naturally."

Kat shook her head, grabbing Dean's glass off the table. She threw back the rest of his drink, and set about pouring another.

"Oh, and uh…this," said Dean, pulling something out of his pocket. "Another souvenir. Look at the label on the ribbon."

He passed it to Sam, who held it out for Kat to see. It was the medallion on the ribbon—the same one from every picture of Dracula she'd ever seen, and the same one Ed had described in his interview. Sam flipped it over, revealing the tag on the back, _The FX Shop Prophouse. Philadelphia._

"It's a costume rental," he sighed.

"So we were right," said Kat, nodding up at him. "I mean, if shapeshifters can change their appearance, then all three murders could have been done by the same person. Or thing. Or…whatever."

"Bingo," said Dean. "Which means we need to catch this freak before he _Creature from the Black Lagoon_ 's somebody."

Sam nodded gravely, and Jamie let out a faint noise of despair. When she finally spoke, her voice was weak with confusion.

"So you guys are like Mulder and Scully or something, and _The X-Files_ are real?"

"No," said Dean with a bitter smile. " _The X-Files_ is a TV show. This is real."

"Don't be a dick," Kat snapped. "Some of us are still learning, alright?"

"Yeah, and that's exactly why I didn't want you on the case."

"You didn't know what the case even was until just now, asshole. And I'm sure you were just _so_ graceful the first time you ran into a shifter."

"The first time _I_ ran into a shifter, it was my face on the line, thank you. So why don't you shut the hell up?"

"Guys!" Sam barked, glaring at the both of them. "Can we please just…please focus on the case?"

Dean grumbled, snatching his glass back from Kat and finishing the drink she'd poured for herself.

"Fine," bit Kat, crossing her arms over her chest. "So we know it's one dude who's staging all the crime scenes as his favorite monster movies, staring himself as the monster. I still think our best bet is to call the Prophouse and see how he's getting his supplies."

"Yeah, but that's gonna have to wait until morning," said Sam, shaking his head. "If Dean spooked him now, he might be getting ready for his third act—costumes, characters, bloody murder and all."

"Wait a second," said Jamie, shaking her head. "Who the hell is Mina?"

"Mina?"

"Yeah, that's what he called Jamie," Dean elaborated. "And he called me Mr. Harker."

"Jonathan Harker?" asked Kat. Dean shrugged, and she glanced back at Sam for confirmation. "Those are both characters from the novel and movies. Mina, Dracula's intended, and Harker, her fiancé that gets in the way."

"It seems like he's fixating on you," Sam added, peering at Jamie. "Like he sees you as his bride."

"Wow. Lucky me."

"But to fixate on you, my guess is that the shifter has to have seen you before or been around you."

"Jamie, has anybody strange come to town?" Dean asked, leaning forward over the table. "Somebody that has taken a specific notice to you?"

"Besides you?" Kat shot. Dean shot her a look.

"I don't know, Dean. It's Oktoberfest," said Jamie with a dry laugh. "I'm a bartender. There's lots of people. I… Wait a second. There is Ed."

"Ed Brewer, Ed?" asked Sam.

"Yeah," she said hesitantly. "He moved here about a month ago. Lucy swears he has a crush on me. He comes in almost every night. But, you know, I don't think he's the type of guy…"

"Where does Ed live?" Dean asked, cutting her off.

"I don't know. But he works at the old movie theater. I think he's the projectionist there."

"Wait, hold on," said Kat, stopping Sam as he headed back to the car. "Did you just say Lucy?"

"Um…yeah," said Jamie. "She's my best friend. She's been working here a few months now."

"Lucy," she repeated, turning pointedly to Sam. "As Mina's best friend in the novels? Dracula's first victim?"

"Victim?" asked Jamie, now sounding distinctly panicked. "But she can't—I mean, she's fine. She just left at ten, there's no way she—she's not…?"

"She's probably fine," Dean assured her. "If she wasn't his actual first victim, I can't see him changing pace now."

"But you're right," Sam agreed. "There's no way that's a coincidence. It definitely could have focused his delusions."

"Or it's part of it."

Both of the Winchesters considered her for a moment, then turned to look at each other. It was one of those infuriating moments. They were trading soulful looks, communicating without words, trying to decide what they should do without consulting her out loud. But this time Kat was ready. She wasn't going to let it slip.

"I can do this," she said firmly. "We don't have a lot of time as it is, and we have to keep moving. Sam can go check on Ed, I'll check in with Lucy, and Dean stays here with Jamie in case Dracula's ready to make a reprise. Sam's right. If he's spooked he's on the move, and we have to cover our bases. I can do this."

"You're sure about this?" Dean asked, doubtfully.

"Please," she scoffed. "I've worked cases without back up before. Maybe I'm not great at puzzling, but I can fight."

Kat held her ground as Dean inspected her. His eyes scrutinized her every flaw, playing back every pro and con of the plan she had suggested. But she didn't flinch. This look, at least, she was familiar with.

"Fine," he said finally, turning back to Jamie. "You know where Lucy lives?"

"Yeah, of course. I walk home with her all the time."

"Think you could write out directions?" asked Kat, pushing her notepad across the table.

Jamie nodded, picking up the pen and scribbling down her notes. Dean glanced up to Sam, and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.

"Take care of Mina?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. You two head out."

"Alright then. Come on, Kat."

"Yup, just one other thing." She leaned on the table, looking expectantly at Dean. He seemed more confused than anything, until she smiled smugly. "Well? Don't you have anything to say to me?"

"Seriously? You want to do this now?"

"It's relevant right now, so yes. I want to do this now."

"God, you're such a child."

"Well, if you're so mature, it shouldn't be that hard to say. Just three little words."

"Fine!" He glared at her, and plastered on a sickening grimace that looked more painful than polite. "You were right. The movie plot was relevant, and I'm glad you read the Wikipedia page."

"Thank you, Dean."

Kat grinned, plucking the notebook from Jamie and practically bouncing as she left the bar. Her glee only irked Dean further, and he called angrily after her.

"You know you still didn't need to do it! Sam probably had all that nerd trivia locked away in his brain! Not like we didn't already know that!"

"Doesn't matter. I win."

Sam laughed as they headed back to the car, letting her take the lead to the Impala. "Do you feel better now?"

"Yes, I absolutely do."

He was still chuckling as he popped the trunk, and Kat got her first look at the Winchester arsenal. She let out a low whistle on sight. Dean had told her that her car was just a starter kit, but she was still shocked by just how much they had in their car. The bottom popped up to show boxes full of fake IDs, knives and shotguns both hung and scattered, and giant bags of salt that had been tucked away for safe keeping. There were empty shotgun rounds, ready to be filled, and even more weapons Kat had never known she might need. A few bronze knifes, some sacks of funny smelling black powder, and even a few bags that looked like they were filled with bones.

"Any of this help identify a shapeshifter?" Kat asked with wide eyes.

"Don't worry," said Sam, bending down to sort through the mess. "It's easier than it sounds. For one, shifters have this rental glare on camera—something about their genetic makeup that they can't mask. If you're going hand to hand, you can either start pulling at body parts, or use this."

From amid the chaos, he pulled out a basic silver dagger and a run of the mill handgun. Each he held up to the light for her to inspect.

"Silver's the only thing that gets to shapeshifters. Touch them with it, their skin will sizzle just like a werewolf or anything else. But you've gotta be fast, cause they might just shed on you. So, pick your poison."

Kat bit her lip, but grabbed the dagger. She brushed off Sam's skeptical expression. "I'm not a perfect shot. I'd rather do hand to hand."

She could tell he wasn't completely satisfied with that answer. But either because he didn't want to coddle her or because he was afraid she'd start yelling again, he let it slide.

"Alright, just uh…be careful, alright? And call one of us if you need back up."

"Yeah, absolutely. You too."

It was awkward, something she hadn't really expected. Kat made a show of securing the dagger underneath her jacket, and Sam fiddled with the magazine of the handgun. It was that feeling she hated again, the uncertainty. But there were two things she was pretty sure she knew. She had a feeling Sam wanted to hug her. And she did not want to hug him.

Kat reached up, patting him firmly on the shoulder before she backed away.

"Regroup here when you're done?"

"Oh uh, yeah. Sounds good."

Kat darted down a side street and away from the confrontation.

Jamie's directions were hard to follow, especially in the dim light of the streetlamps. There were inconclusive, the way anyone's would be if they were suddenly asked to give directions they'd never thought about before. But eventually, Kat managed to find her way to the street and house that had been described on the paper.

She ran the doorbell, and waited patiently for the door to swing open. The brunette bartender looked surprised to see her—even a bit alarmed—but Kat did her best to copy Sam's disarming smile.

"Hi. It's Lucy, right?"

"Um, yes? Is there something I can help you with?"

"I'm Agent Paige, FBI," she said, reaching for her badge before remembering that she hadn't brought it with her. "Um, you'd probably remember my partners. Two guys—Agents Too Tall and Too Flirty?"

"Yeah," Lucy laughed, leaning against the doorframe. "Kinda hard to forget."

"I know. I'm really sorry to bother you, but we just had an incident at the bar in town. I was hoping you wouldn't mind answering a few questions?"

"Oh my God, is everyone okay?"

"Yes. Luckily there were no injuries, but it did involve your co-worker Jamie. I understand the two of you are close?"

"Sure. Close as two girls can be in a bar of handsy drunks like Agent Young." Lucy quickly straightened. "Sorry, uh…no offense."

"Trust me," said Kat with a smirk. "Zero offense was taken."

"God, I'm being rude, um… Please, come in." She stepped back, letting Kat into the hall and shutting the door behind her. "So what happened to Jamie?"

"She had an encounter with an individual we believe is involved with the case. My partner was able to fend off the attack, but we still wanted to conduct a few interviews to be cautious."

"Attack?" Lucy repeated. "What makes you think she was attacked?"

Kat frowned.

"Ma'am, this man in a suspect in three different murders. It's safe to assume that he's extremely dangerous, and we believe he's looking for an opportunity for his fourth victim."

"Right. Sorry, I just—I just meant that…" Lucy shook her head, wiping a hand down her face. "Victim? I mean, that—that _can't_ be Jamie. I just can't see why anyone would ever want to hurt her. She's so great, you know?"

"I'm sure this is very difficult. But I promise you that your friend is perfectly safe. We have her in protective custody at the moment."

"Protective custody? Is that really necessary?"

"She's simply in the company of one of our agents until we feel the danger has passed."

"Company, right," Lucy snorted. "I'm sure protective custody isn't the only thing Agent Too Flirty's working on."

"More to the point," said Kat firmly, "we wanted to ensure your safety as well."

"My safety? Why would you need to check in on me?"

"Well, ma'am, we've noticed that the killer seems to be fixating on certain classic horror films, namely _Dracula._ Are you aware that you share a name with one of the main characters?"

"Uh…no, I had no idea," she said, shaking her head. "Horror—Horror's not really my scene. That's more like…I don't know, an Ed Brewer type thing."

"We'll also be speaking to Mr. Brewer," Kat said with a nod. "But we feel as though the association with your name, along with your relationship with Jamie, might make you a potential target."

"Seriously? Just because of my name?"

"We'd like to err on the side of caution."

"I get that. And I appreciate it. But honestly, Agent Paige, I think you're wasting your time. There are a lot of other people in this town who are a lot more vulnerable than me. I think it's them you should be protecting."

Kat paused. She had worked plenty of cases over the two years she'd been hunting—dealt with panicked witnesses, reluctant witnesses, and even stubborn ones. But she hadn't seen someone so unshaken and unsurprised by the news they might be involved in a murder case. The usual reactions were panic, disbelief and defense. Not confidence.

"Alright," Kat said cautiously. "I won't waste your time then. But we did warn Jamie that you might be involved and…well, she was extremely worried about you. Would it be alright if I sent her a picture? Just to prove that you're safe?"

"Of course. Anything for Jamie."

Lucy smiled, holding up her hand in a wave as Kat took out her phone. She opened the camera, and held it up to frame the photo. Only the Lucy on the screen wasn't the same Lucy standing in front of her. The dark eyes were gone, replaced by a bright glowing silver that shone like the moon.

Kat barely had time to duck as Lucy swung, and she dropped the phone in surprise. She stumbled into the wall, running further into the house to buy herself some time. She ran into the living room, hurtling directly over an armchair. The dagger was ready in her hand before she even turned around.

"I have to give you credit, Agent Paige," said Lucy. She was strolling across the room without a sign of concern. "You really did your homework. If a hunter had to catch me in the act, I'm glad it's one who knows their films."

"Thanks," said Kat, flipping the blade in her hands. "But I just read the Wikipedia page."

Lucy's smile vanished, and she lunged again.

Kat dodged, but her own swing was too wild to land. She elbowed Lucy in the stomach instead, which seemed to have little to no effect. She barely wobbled, and still had enough grounding to kick Kat in the chest. Kat flew back across the room, slamming into a wall and slumping down to the carpet. She couldn't breathe, and fumbled with the knife as she picked it up. But she was ready when Lucy struck again, a hand coming to grip Kat's hair. She swung the dagger, slicing the skin of Lucy's hand, and not hesitating to stab it into her side.

Lucy screamed, and Kat could hear her skin sizzle like Sam had promised. The same clear goo from before bubbled up from the hole in her shirt, smoking slightly. Kat yanked the dagger back and forced herself to her feet, coughing.

It didn't take long for Lucy to recover. She charged with new conviction, swinging with more power than Kat has expected, and kicking with the sharp boots she wore. It took almost all of her concentration to keep blocking. The dagger only nicked at Lucy's skin, leaving tiny cuts that neither bled nor healed. Finally, Kat was able to slice off a strip of flesh from Lucy's forearm. Lucy howled, and kicked Kat in the chest once more.

The kick she'd been prepared for. The flight across the room she'd been prepared for. Even rolling down a flight of stairs could have been worse. What she hadn't been prepared for was where she'd landed.

Kat groaned as she pushed herself up on her elbows, and she had to do a double take. It didn't look like the same house. There were no couches and picture frames, no cream painted walls. Instead everything was made of stone. There were high windows, and pumping iron machines, and test tubes that bubbled with strange bright liquids and puffed smoke. It was like being inside of a castle.

"Great," she grumbled, rubbing her head. "I just had to say Frankenstein."

"You like it?" asked Lucy, gesturing around with her good arm. "This is my set. My safe haven. My beautiful, beautiful home."

"You really are on your last marble, aren't you?" Kat snickered. Her hand tightened around the dagger.

"The least you could do is appreciate the craftsmanship," said Lucy with a frown. "There's no need for you to be so rude."

"You killed three people and kicked me in the chest. I'm gonna be as rude as I want."

This did not go over well. Lucy's jaw tightened, and she picked up a long length of heavy looking chain from one of the work tables. She gave it an experimental twirl, and turned back to Kat with a twisted grin.

"So be it."

Lucy swung the chain like a whip, and Kat had to roll out of the way as it slammed into the stones next to her. She hopped up onto her feet, and over the chain again as it came swinging by her ankles. She used the moment it took Lucy to change direction to charge forward, going straight for the throat this time instead of bothering with the arms. Lucy caught her just in time, and she was only able to slice the skin of her collarbone before she was sent hurtling back to the floor.

The chain came again, wrapping around her ankle. The pull might have been hard enough to dislocate her hip, but Kat didn't have time to be sure. Her body went skittering over the stones, and she dropped the knife before she could accidentally stab herself. She saw the examination table she was headed for, saw the beam that was going to hit her head…and blacked out.


	13. Chapter 13

"Kat. Katherine. Kat, wake up."

Her head hurt. It hurt like a motherfucker. She could barely hear anything around her, and yet her brain was still swimming in sounds—her pulse, the thunder, and that broody, annoying voice, beating down the darkness that was comforting her skull.

"Hey, Tinkerbell!"

Kat groaned, blinking her eyes open. She was still in the laboratory, but she'd moved off the floor. Feebly, she attempted to move her arms, only to find herself locked down to one of the examination tables. The metal straps were unyielding and cold where they cut into her skin. She inched her hand toward her hip to feel for her phone, only to remember she'd dropped it in the hall. But that didn't seem to matter at the moment, seeing as she no longer had any pockets.

She lifted her head with difficulty, peering down at the strange body now attached to her head. She recognized her own skin, could move her legs, but her boots had been replaced by heels, barely visible beyond the poufy skirt she was wearing. She definitely couldn't remember owning a frilly bar wench costume.

"What the…?"

"Cute skirt," said Dean from across the room. He was bound the same as Kat, his cheap FBI suit replaced by even cheaper lederhosen. "Looks good on you."

"Funny," Kat snorted. It hurt. "Nice knee highs, asshole."

"Eh, bet I still look better than you."

"Yeah right."

He tossed his head back, laughing lightly. It faded when he looked back at her, the smirk laced with concern.

"You alright?"

"I think," she said, testing the restraints again. "Just my head. Bitch knocked me out."

"Let me see." At his direction, Kat let her head loll to the side. Dean's hiss was not at all reassuring. "Yeah, you're bleeding. Doesn't look too bad though. You'll probably be fine."

"Shit." She laughed, knowing it was stupid, knowing it would hurt. "If I have to get stitches again, my mom's gonna kill me."

"Only if we get outta here," he pointed out. "What happened, anyway? Aren't you supposed to be a black belt or something?"

"Oh, fuck off. I teach self-defense, I'm not a ninja. Lucy's a lot stronger than she looks. Sam neglected to mention that shapeshifters have super strength too."

"Well that's kinda a given," he scoffed. "But if you need a disclaimer, sure. From here on out, you can assume every super-monster has some kind of super strength."

Kat resisted the urge to tell him to go fuck himself again. But it was a close one.

"Alright, Mr. Badass Hunter, then what the hell happened to you?"

"Drugged. We were…" Dean stopped short, his eyes wide. "Fuck. Jamie."

"She was still with you?"

"At the bar, yeah. Shit, I think she passed out. And the guy was still there! Goddamnit!"

"Dean, I'm sure she's fine," Kat reasoned as he struggled. "The shifter's fixating on her, right? He's not gonna hurt her if he thinks she's his bride, or…whatever…"

"Yeah, well he better not. Cause I can't wait to kill this son of a bitch!" Lightning cracked outside, thunder rolling under Dean's yells. He turned sourly to the high window. "Really, with the thunderstorm? How cliché are we gonna get?"

"Wait, how the hell did you get drugged?" asked Kat. "What guy?"

"Some weird ass deputy," Dean sighed, sinking back against the slab. "He stopped in the bar, said someone had called about a disturbance and he was just there to check it out. I guess he was round the bar a lot, cause Jamie recognized him and told him to stay for a drink. Didn't realize it was the shifter until about ten minutes later, the room's spinning and I'm face down on the floor."

"He was disguising himself as a deputy? Geez, how many disguises did this thing have?"

"I don't know. Guess Lucy couldn't be around Jamie all the time, so she was Deputy Renfield on her days off."

"Did you just say _Renfield_?" asked Kat.

"Don't, no," Dean said angrily. "I do not need to hear that that's another damn _Dracula_ name. I got it. Next time I'll read the freaking Wikipedia page."

"I didn't say…"

"You were saying it with your eyes! I got it!"

"Your bickering—it is extremely grating."

Dean and Kat both stopped, eyes snapping toward the staircase where the shifter had joined them. He'd taken on the form of Dracula again. Kat wasn't sure why she was surprised. He looked exactly as Ed had described—the cape, the fangs, the slicked back hair. He'd even replaced the medallion that Dean had ripped off during their fight—as well as his ear.

"Sorry," said Dean, wriggling his arms a bit. "You didn't really leave us much room to do anything else."

"You are uncomfortable," the shifter observed, still using his outrageous accent. "Yes, that is unfortunate. But I trust you understand why it is necessary. We both needed time, you to reflect on your roles, and I to…"

"Plan your dramatic villain speech?" asked Kat.

Dracula glowered at her, and another crash of thunder clapped outside.

"She is beautiful, no?" he continued, pointing to a large portrait on the wall that neither Kat nor Dean had been looking at. It was Lucy's face, hung in an ornate frame. "Bride number three from the first film. She never got the acclaim that she deserved. Which is why I chose her shape, her form to move among the mortals unnoticed—to listen to the cricket songs of the living. That is when I discovered that my bride had been reborn in this century…"

For once, Kat was thankful to hear Dean's smug chuckle. It cut off the end of the monologue, making Dracula peer curiously at him in his restraints.

"I just can't get over what a pumpkin-pie-eyed, crazy son of a bitch you really are," said Dean, shaking his head. "You're not Dracula! You get that, right? Or even if you think you are Dracula, what the hell's up with the mummy?"

That hit a nerve. The shifter swept over to Dean and, this time, put his role aside to punch him in the face.

"I am all monsters!" he declared grandly.

Even wounded, Dean rolled his eyes. "Life ain't a movie, you sorry sack of…!"

The second punch came harder, and Dean had to finish the sentence with a groan.

"Life is small, meager, messy. The movies are grand, simple, elegant. I have _chosen_ elegance."

"Elegance?" Kat spat. "That's what you think this is? That's what you'd call murdering Marissa Wright? Or strangling Karl Ronneheim? Tearing apart Rick Deacon? _Elegance?"_

"But of course." He flourished his cape, folding it over his face as he approached her. "I took them from their messy, meaningless lives, and gave them purpose. In their deaths, they became something more than mortal, more than the mundane, simple humans that they were in life. I've given them—I've given all of you— _purpose_."

"Well, thanks. But the only _purpose_ I need right now, is to kick your ass."

The shifter smiled, baring sharp fangs that mirrored the twisted gleam in his eye. He reached out, and stroked a hand down her face. Kat spluttered, but the restraints left her no room to recoil.

"My dear, Miss Seward…your purpose is merely a blip on the screen of this film. You are but a background character in my grand plot. Your concept of _elegance_ means nothing to me."

"Actually, I'm with Kat on this one," said Dean, causing the shifter to whip back towards him. "Trust me, I'm just as surprised as you. But you really think that killing people was gonna make you _elegant_ enough to make up for all the crazy rolling around your head?"

"There were casualties, of course," he conceded. "It is a monster movie, after all."

"You do realize what happens at the end of _every_ monster movie?"

"I'm not huge on them," Kat admitted. "But I'm pretty sure the monster usually dies."

"Yahtzee," Dean agreed, with a smug smile.

But Dracula's smile was, if possible, even more smug.

"Ah, but this movie is _mine_. And in it, the monster wins. The monster gets the girl. And the heroes, they are…electrocuted. And tonight, my friends, you shall be my heroes. Say goodbye, Mr. Harker, to your lovely supporting actress."

The shapeshifter beamed, and with a swish of his cape, slid out of Kat's sight behind her. The grin on Dean's face vanished, and Kat looked down in horror at the bands holding her to the table. Big, metals bands that were bolted against her skin, that were seconds away from frying her to infinity.

"Oh no," she said weakly. "No. This is not how I go. I am—I am not gonna die like this. I—I cannot die like this."

"Whoa! Hey!" Dean was struggling in his restraints again, thrashing as he watched the creature over her shoulder. "This is—This is a little hasty isn't it? I mean, shouldn't we have last words, last rights, some—something like that?"

"The time for words has come and gone, Mr. Harker. It is time for Miss Seward to meet her final fate!"

The thunder rolled outside. The lightning cracked. Yet, even as the monster cackled maniacally over the din, Kat couldn't bring herself to struggle. She'd known what a risk hunting was. She'd known every second that she'd be gambling with her own life for the chance to save someone else's. But this was never something she'd imagined. Strapped up in a castle dungeon, electrocuted to death, not even wearing her own clothes. This was not elegant. This was not a purpose. This was not her idea of saving somebody's life.

Kat locked eyes with Dean across the room. He looked worried, panicked even. She could feel the fear on her face, and every ounce of her control couldn't force it away. She just stared at him, completely helpless, the feeling rising like water in her throat. If she was lucky, she might drown in it before the first current reached her skin.

She saw Dean gulp. And like a switch, his concern vanished.

"Whatever, man. It's your funeral."

The thunder and the laughing stopped at the same time. There was instant silence as Dean glanced around the dungeon, now looking positively bored.

"Excuse me?" the shifter asked, the terrible Romanian accent almost slipping.

Dean shrugged. "I said it's your funeral."

"…Yes. I'm aware that those were your words. Perhaps you did not understand what I meant when I said that your friend would be meeting her final fate."

"Oh no, I get you. And honestly, lead to lead, you'd be doing me a favor. All she does is nag, nag, nag…"

"Hey!"

"Sorry, it's true. But it's like you said, buddy. She's the supporting actress, so…"

Dracula appeared at Kat's shoulder, looking just as confused as she felt. Both of them stared at Dean, who seemed to be ignoring them. He just kept sweeping his eyes over the room, humming in appreciation of random candelabras and bunches of cobwebs.

"My apologies, Mr. Harker. But I fail to see the relevance of your point."

"Supporting actress," Dean repeated. "Everyone knows they're always the first to kick it in a horror movie. Any kind of movie, really. I just figured, you know, since you were trying to get off script, you'd be smart enough to realize that the hero's the first person you want to off. No hero, no monster murder. But, hey. Your movie, dude. Your creative choice."

Kat's jaw dropped. Dracula beamed.

"An excellent point, Mr. Harker," he drawled. "And truly, the action of a hero."

"Well, all in a day's work, you know?"

Dean managed to smile. Even as the shapeshifter crossed the room to a different lever, even as he began to cackle again, even as Kat began to scream.

"No! Dean—Dean, no! Stop! Hey, stop!"

Now her body seemed to have no problem obeying her commands. She wrestled with the metal holding her down, twisted against the weak wood behind her. If she could force even one bolt out of place, she would have an advantage. If she could wiggle her legs out from the bottom band, or slip down a few inches to reach the floor.

But none of it would be enough to save Dean. She knew that. And as he watched her struggle from across the room, she knew that he knew it too.

Dean scrunched up his face, bracing himself for the jolt. And then the doorbell rang.

All three of them froze. The room was filled with silence, until the doorbell rang again.

The shifter retracted his hand from the lever with a polite smile. "Please, excuse me."

He swept his cape up over his face again, and scurried from the room.

"Shit, that was close," Dean sighed, sagging back against the examination table.

It took Kat a few seconds to catch her breath. Relief calmed her heaving chest, but when reason finally wormed its way back into her brain, she looked up at Dean in horror.

"What the hell was that?"

"Excuse me?" He glared back at her, affronted. "That was me saving your sorry ass!"

"By getting yourself fried extra crispy?"

"It's not like we had a long list of options! You're welcome, by the way. Don't bother thanking me, really. Your gratitude is overflowing."

He scoffed, glowering off at some different wall, and Kat bit her lip. It took her a moment to reel in the remnants of her panic and shock. She didn't speak until she was certain she had everything back under control. Her voice was soft, and she did her best to bury her pride under all the earnestness she could muster.

"Thank you."

Dean considered her out of the corner of his eye, grumpy but relenting.

"Yeah, don't mention it. Let's just hope it bought us enough time for Sam to show up."

"It can't be long, right? I mean, he knew where I was going, and he was only jumping over to the movie theater and back. How long was I out for?"

"No idea, since I was _also_ unconscious." Dean frowned, his eyes drifting over to her once more. "You don't have a wrench under that skirt, do you?"

"You're disgusting," said Kat, and he chuckled.

"Just trying to ease the tension."

Thankfully, he shut up after that. They struggled in silence, the only sounds the thunder outside and their own occasionally grunts and sighs. Kat was sure she'd have red bands scraped into her skin for a few days once they got out. Assuming, of course, that they didn't die down here.

The sound of approaching footsteps made her heart stop, but it was not the shapeshifter who appeared at the door. She could see the silhouette on the wall—too tall, with a gun poised and ready—long before Sam ducked around the corner.

"Oh, thank God," Dean sighed. Sam rushed over to him, tucking the gun under his arm and pulling a short crowbar from his pants. "Just in the nick of time. That guy was about to Frankenstein me."

"Maybe next time," said Sam, removing the bolts from the straps and helping Dean down to his feet. He shoved a knife into his hands and hurried over to Kat. He offered her a rushed smile. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah. You know, for once, I'm actually happy to see you."

He chuckled, removing the restraints and catching her before she could slide to the floor. She allowed him to steady her, trying to find her footing in her new strappy shoes. She didn't even snap at him when he held up the dagger that she'd dropped during the attack.

"You still wanna go hand to hand?"

"No. But you're still the better shot." Kat took the knife, and twirled it in her hand. She swept her hair over one shoulder, and nodded to Dean. "You ready to filet this fucker?"

"Damn right, I am." He nodded toward the nearest door, waving an arm. "Ladies first."

"Wait," said Sam, and they paused to look back at him. He was smirking widely, and looked them both up and down in amusement. "I didn't know _Hansel and Gretel_ was classified as classic horror."

In unison, Kat and Dean both flipped him off.

Sam held up his hands in surrender, but was still smirking as he walked past them. Dean nodded to the door, and Sam kicked in the center bolt. His foot went directly through the wood, and the entire set of double doors collapsed in one sheet on the floor. Sam stumbled to keep himself upright. Kat did not bother repressing her snort.

"Really splurged on this quality set, huh?"

"You're telling me," said Dean. "Let's go."

What they'd expected to be a long dungeon corridor turned out to just be a tiny hallway. Kat kept having to check her own perceptions. They were not in a castle. They were in a small suburban house with a shotty extension that _looked_ like a castle. There wasn't exactly anywhere for them to go. She knocked on a few of the stones, confirming that they were made of plywood like everything else was.

Sam showed more restraint at the next door they came across. He tugged on the handle—but the door didn't budge. Glancing back at them in confusion, he moved to the side where the hinges should be. He pushed gently on the wood, and the whole doorframe swung open as one.

It was another castle room, this time an ornate bedroom complete with vanity and canopy bed. Jamie was lying there, changed into a white silk dress and, from the looks of it, unconscious. But that was all Kat had time to process.

The moment Sam stepped into the room, he was thrown sideways by a streak of black. His body hurtled across the room, going directly through the opposite hall and into the adjacent hallway.

"You will never win, Van Helsing!" Dracula roared.

Dean stepped up next, attempting to tackle the shapeshifter to the ground while Kat skirted around the room. She tore her eyes from the fight, rushing over to the bed and shaking Jamie by the shoulder.

"Come on. Come on, Jamie," she hissed. "Jamie!"

Her eyes blinked open blearily, one hand reaching to wipe the blood that was trickling out of her nose. "A-Agent Paige?"

"Yeah, hi. Here to help, not a lot of time, let's move it."

There was a loud crash from behind her as Dean too went flying across the room. He landed on a side table, which splintered underneath him as he slammed into the wall. Dean groaned, and the shifter laughed as he swept forward, ready to go in for the kill.

"Oh no you don't."

Kat ran without thinking, jumping onto his back and holding on for all she was worth. Dracula hissed, writhing to throw her off. Just went she was about to lose her grip, she plunged the dagger into his chest.

The shapeshifter howled. His legs buckled beneath him, and Kat was thrown off as the pair of them collapsed to the floor. She tumbled forward, but forced herself up, prepared to defend herself in the next attack.

Dracula knelt on the floor in front of her, clutching the hilt of the dagger. He hissed as he pulled it out, and the blood was nearly black in the dim moonlight.

"Silver?" he spat, oblivious to the movement behind him.

Kat smiled.

"That's right, asshole. And so is this."

The gun went off twice. Holes appeared in Dracula's crisp, white shirt, blood following a few seconds later. He gaped down at them in surprise. He struggled to his feet, to turn around, and finally faced Jamie—who held the smoking gun in her hands.

"Twas Beauty that killed the Beast." The shapeshifter stared at her, staggering back across the room. He collapsed into a high backed chair, the light from the window casting a dark shadow on his face. "No, Mina. Do not weep. Perhaps this is how the movie should end."

His breath rattled, his eyes closed. And he stopped moving.

"Fucking weirdo," Dean snorted from the floor. He brushed himself off, looking up at Jamie. "You okay?"

Jamie nodded shakily. She looked from the body to the gun in her hands and blinked a few times, her brain catching up to her actions. Her hands trembled, and she quickly dropped the gun.

"Whoa!" Kat jumped, and scrambled to her feet. "Alright, okay, let's—let's maybe not drop the loaded gun on the floor."

She grabbed it up, patting Jamie gently on the shoulder, who nodded frantically. Kat clicked the safety back on and headed toward the giant hole in the wall. She ducked through, brushing aside a few pieces of debris so she could get to Sam, who was stirring on the floor.

"Sam, you good?"

"…Ow…"

"Yeah. Nice going, Van Helsing."

"Shut up, Kat."

She grinned, offering him her hand and tugging him to his feet.

"Definitely dead?" asked Sam as they re-entered the bedroom.

"Dead," Dean confirmed. He was leaning over the body, and gave Dracula's face a short slap for good measure. "Nice job, Probie. Looks like you killed your first shapeshifter."

"And in heels," Kat added.

"Oh, I wasn't talking to you. I mean, Jamie's the one that killed it, so. Better luck next time."

"God, you're such an asshole."

"Asshole that saved your life."

"And I just saved yours!"

"Guys," Sam sighed. "Can we maybe do this later?"

He nodded towards Jamie, who was still trembling in the middle of the room. She was still staring at the shapeshifter's body in horror. Kat immediately softened.

"Right," said Dean tightly. "Let's get out of here. This place gives me the creeps."

"Good plan," said Sam. They headed for the door.

"Uh, guys?" Kat cleared her throat. "Could we maybe find our real clothes first?"

They each looked around—Dean in his lederhosen, Jamie in her ball gown, Kat in her skirt. Dean pointed to her, and nodded.

"Better plan."

The three of them left Jamie in the bedroom to change into her clothes, Sam standing guard at the door since he didn't have anything to look for. Dean and Kat had to wander back into the laboratory and tear the room apart. Eventually the found their belongings in a heavy trunk, covered in fake cobwebs and stashed under a far window. Kat seized her boots, kicking off the strappy heels before anything else. Then she headed back toward the staircase.

"Hey, where you going?" asked Dean.

"To find a bathroom."

"Oh, come on. You don't trust me? I promise I won't peek."

"Fuck off."

Kat rolled her eyes, taking refuge in the normal part of the house. It was a relief to walk out of the fake dungeon and back into reality, but at the same time, the contrast made the house feel eerie. How many times had "Lucy" invited Jamie into her house for a girls' night? How many times had Jamie sat in the living room or laughed in the kitchen without knowing about the different world waiting for her downstairs? How long had the shapeshifter been worming they're way into Jamie's life?

She sighed as she finally found the bathroom. She didn't envy Jamie at all. She knew all too well what it was like to wake up one morning and not know what parts of your life you could trust.

Everyone was waiting on the curb when she returned. Sam stood at the back of the Impala, stealthily stowing all their weapons back in the trunk where Jamie couldn't see. Dean had her up by the headlights, talking to her in a low voice. Her arms were wrapped tightly over her chest, and he had an arm around her shoulders. Kat wanted to sneer, but at least Jamie didn't look so hollow anymore. Whatever Dean was talking about had her smiling, even laughing. So Kat kept her own opinion of him to herself.

"Well, I don't know about you guys," said Kat as she joined them, "but I am ready to pass the fuck out."

"Hear, hear," said Dean, raising a hand.

"Well, you can't," said Sam with a wry smile.

"Excuse me?"

"Your head? You've probably got a concussion, and that means no passing out for you."

"I'm an adult, Sam. I've had a concussion before. I'll be fine."

"Kat, you're _bleeding._ "

"Aw, cut her some slack, Sammy," said Dean. "Why don't the two of you head back to the hotel? I'll catch up with you later. I'm gonna walk Jamie home, make sure she gets there safe and everything's, uh…monster free."

"Right," said Sam, with a poorly hidden smirk.

Obviously Dean was banking on "later" being tomorrow morning, since there was no way he was walking from the Canonsburg suburbs back to hotel at four in the morning.

"You sure you're gonna be okay, Jamie?" Kat asked.

"I think so," she said with a small smile. "It's just been a… _really_ weird day. I'd feel a lot safer if someone stayed with me for a while."

"Absolutely," said Dean without missing a beat.

It was difficult for Kat not to roll her eyes.

"But seriously," said Jamie, taking a step away from him and looking at Kat and Sam in earnest. "Thank you guys so much for all your help. Dean was talking before, about all the stuff you guys do to help people, and… You guys probably saved my life tonight."

"Well, don't thank us," said Sam. "You're kinda the one that saved the day."

"Yeah, well, I had little help." Jamie grinned at them. "Really. Thank you."

"Anytime," said Kat. "Just, try not to make a habit of it."

Jamie and Dean stepped back to the sidewalk as they climbed in the car, even waved when they pulled away from the curb. Against her better judgement, Kat looked back before they turned the corner. She was not surprised to see that Dean was already devouring Jamie's face.

Kat snorted, causing Sam to glance in the mirror himself.

"Ah. Yeah," he sighed, turning back to the road. "Look, I know you kind of hate him, but…it's just his way of blowing off steam after a case. We're all hyped on adrenaline and we've all got our ways of…winding down."

Kat looked out the window, leaning her weary head against the glass. She regretted it almost instantly. The moment her eyes fluttered shut the car hit a bump, and her head smacked against the glass. She swallowed her groan, but the pain reverberated through her head. The base of her skull throbbed under dried blood. She beat back the thought that Sam might be right. She should probably try and stay awake.

"What do you do?" she asked, rolling her head to a safe place on the upholstery. "After a case?"

"Depends," said Sam. "Grab a drink, usually. Bar if I'm with Dean, hotel if he's doing his own thing. Sometimes I run if I'm not injured. What about you?"

"I don't know. Pack up, move on. Sleep, hopefully."

"Kat…"

"Sam, I've hunted alone before, alright? I've had a concussion alone before. I know how to take care of myself."

"Yeah. I know you do."

He shook his head, and didn't say anything else. Not verbally, anyway. But there was an edge to the way he was pressing on the gas, the jerky brakes and stops, his thumb tapping incessantly on the rim of the steering wheel.

Kat rolled her eyes. "But…?"

"Why don't you stay with me?" he said in a rush. "I mean, we both know Dean's not coming back tonight. We've barely slept in the beds as it is. You can take Dean's bed, or you can have mine and I'll take his and…that way if you want to sleep, you can, and I can wake you up. And if you don't want to then…we can eat, have a drink, maybe watch some TV."

"Oh goody, hotel television. My favorite."

"I know it's not the best, but maybe we can find a find a movie or something. Or just…I don't know…talk?"

"About _what_?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what do we have to talk about, Sam? We talked about Jess. I told you about my dad, about Marcus. We've talked about the gym, and your psychic powers and the damn Apocalypse. So what else is left? What do you have to tell me that you haven't already said?"

Sam looked over at her, surprised. Worse than that, he looked hurt. He licked his lips and turned back to the road, bitter smile on his face.

"It's not because I have to tell you anything, Kat. We don't have to talk. I guess I just missed the days we didn't need a reason to."

"…oh…"

Kat blinked at him. She had never really considered herself close with Sam. He'd been her little sister's boyfriend, and while he was sweet, they hadn't hung out a lot. Maybe he'd come by the gym with Jess every now and then, or hang out at their house on the weekends. He'd been around for a few dinners, stayed for a few movie nights, but it wasn't something Kat considered to be exceptional.

It had never occurred to her that Sam might not feel the same way.

She'd done a lot of thinking about his relationship with Jessica, especially since she'd found out he was a hunter. Mostly, she was angry about being lied to, about Jess being lied to. But she'd never paid much thought to what Stanford had been like for Sam. Best she could understand, he and Dean had grown up on the road, living motel to motel and hunting since each of them could shoot a gun. Sam hadn't grown up with family dinners and movie nights. He didn't have a lot of people he could talk to about whatever he wanted to. Since becoming a hunter, Kat was growing familiar with the feeling herself.

"I think I'm gonna pass," she sighed, and it was an honest answer. "I think getting beaten, tied up, and dressed up kinda drained my social points for the day. No offense."

"Okay, yeah, I—I get that. None taken."

He smiled, but Kat could hear the hurt in his voice. She wished she could just stop listening to it, more than anything. Sam's voice was exhausting. It always made her feel conflicting emotions that made her head hurt. She felt bad for denying him, and then angry that she felt bad. She didn't _want_ to talk to him. Why did she have to want to talk to him? She was tired, she was hurt, and she wanted to be alone. She shouldn't have to suck it up just because Sam was feeling nostalgic. And at the same time, she felt stupid and bitter for pushing him away. She hated it.

Maybe it wasn't a huge mystery why she was so lonely.

The rest of the car ride was silent. The hotel was quiet when they arrived, and the employee at the front desk didn't even look up when they walked in. Still, Sam kept Kat close, walking directly between her and the desk so no one would see her bloody hair. Despite the smothering, Kat let him walk her all the way to her room.

"You sure you're good?" he asked as they reached her door. "If you need help bandaging your head…"

"Sam, I got it."

"Right. Okay, well then…you might wanna set an alarm for like three hours, just so you can check…"

"Sam."

"Yeah." He clamped his mouth shut, nodding reluctantly. "I know. I'm annoying."

"I already knew that," said Kat, elbowing him lightly. "But honestly, I'm just beat. If I feel any different, I'll call you."

"Good."

This must have been the fourth or fifth time she'd said goodbye to Sam Winchester in the past month. The tension was still there, the uncertainty, but this time it didn't bother her as much.

Kat smirked, jabbing him in the ribs as she hip-checked her door open. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. Enjoy your solo room."

"Yeah," he laughed. "Yeah, I definitely will. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"And Sam? Thanks for saving my ass. Seriously. I owe you one."

Sam smiled, backing down the hallway towards his own room.

"No problem. I'm sure you'll get me back next time."

"You mean next time I let you drag me across the country to deal with a crazy who likes to play dress up?"

"Yeah. Next time."

Sam winked, and finally headed off toward his own room. And even though Kat scoffed at the thought, and her head was still pounding, and there was nothing she wanted more than to forget the last thirty-six hours—she grinned.

"Sure, Sam. Next time."


	14. Chapter 14

Kat always enjoyed getting up the morning after a case. Something about risking her life made waking up that much sweeter. The shining sun didn't bother her. The motel sheets seemed a little less uncomfortable. The air seemed crisper purely for the reason that she was alive to feel it. Her body still ached from the fight, but it was a good ache, the kind she might have after a good workout. It meant that she'd done something productive, done something good, even if her muscles were paying the price.

These were the things she always took time to appreciate after finishing a hunt. Right up until there was a knock on her door.

She peered through the peephole, recognizing the mop of brown hair and leaning against the door in defeat.

"Sam, if you're here to tell me there's another body, you can just leave now."

"Nope. No body."

Reassured by the positivity in his voice, she opened the door just a crack. He wasn't wearing his FBI suit. It was just another flannel day. He was smiling, and had his hands behind his back. Kat raised a curious eyebrow.

"Okay…bagel?"

"No body. No bagel."

"Oh. Well then, you can still leave now."

"Seriously?" Sam laughed. "Kat, I bought you breakfast like five times this week."

"And? I didn't ask you to do that."

"No, I know. Just…you're starting to sound a little spoiled."

Kat narrowed her eyes at his smirk, and opened the door a little wider.

"I'm sorry, did you want to have the shit kicked out of you before noon?"

"I changed my mind."

"Yeah. Good choice."

"No, I changed my mind about yesterday." Sam tucked his hands in his pockets, wearing a very self-satisfied smile. It almost made him look like his brother. "I was thinking about what you were saying, about how you owe me for saving your life. I know I said you could get me next time, but I decided I wanna collect. Now."

A pang of panic instantly shot through her chest. Rational thought told her that anything Sam wanted from her wouldn't be harmful, but rational thought couldn't find any room in her brain. Her hand tightened on the door frame, her body tense.

"What do you mean?"

"Dean called," said Sam, oblivious to her reaction. "He's taking the morning with Jamie, and then he's gonna wrap up all the questions at the sheriff station. That means I get the morning off, and I decided I want to go to the movies. You're coming with me."

"No." The panic subsided, and she scrunched up her nose in distaste. "Why?"

"Cause sometimes it's nice to have company. And because you owe me."

Kat glared at him. Unfortunately, it did not have its usual effect of making him crumble. He'd clearly planned for her reaction, and stood tall and steady, smiling confidently and waiting for her to fold.

She could have kicked herself. But she grabbed her jacket.

"You're paying," she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder and joining him in the hallway.

"Um, no?"

"Sam." She stared blankly at him until he sighed. "You are paying."

"Fine. Take what I can get, I guess."

She shoved him for that, but followed him down to the Impala. Kat slid into the passenger side, turning in her seat so she could lean her back against the door. There was plenty of room for her to spread out, probably enough for her to kick her legs up while Sam was driving. She had to admit, the car was growing on her.

"What do you wanna see so bad anyway?" she asked as they pulled out of the parking lot.

Sam didn't answer with words. But it was easy to guess from the smirk on his face.

"Oh, come on," she groaned. "Seriously?"

"It's a classic, and you've never seen it."

"And I don't _want_ to! Dracula kicked my ass and held me hostage yesterday. Why the hell would I want to see more of him?"

"It's not real," he offered, making Kat roll her eyes. "Besides, he might have locked you up, but you were the one who kicked ass."

"Yeah, after Lucy chased me round the dungeon with a chain."

Her head ached from the memory, and she had to resist the urge to go poking at her scalp again. She'd already reopened it once in her sleep, and she'd already spent enough time arranging her hair into a ponytail that could cover the wound.

"How are you feeling?" Sam asked, glancing over at her.

"If I say I feel faint do I get to skip the movie? Or do you need someone to hold your hand while the fake vampires are on screen?"

"I don't need you to watch the movie with me," he said with a snort. "But uh…I kinda can't go back to the movie theater by myself."

"Why not?"

"Well, I went to go talk to Ed last night and uh…it didn't go too well."

"What the hell did you do?"

"I sort of…attacked him, I guess. Which was kind of awkward since he turned out not to be the shifter after all."

"Oh my God, Sam." Kat shook her head in exasperation. "You just went in guns blazing and tried to kill the guy?"

"We thought he was a shifter!"

"We thought he _could_ be the shifter! You don't kill someone before you know for sure, idiot!"

"I didn't kill him. I just roughed him up a little bit. When his ear didn't rip off, I backed off."

"Oh, great. So you assaulted him and then apologized for the mistake."

"Well how did you test Lucy?"

"I took a picture, dumbass. Said Jamie wanted proof that her friend was okay, and then took out my phone."

"That…" Sam paused, impressed. "That's actually really smart."

"You told me their eyes shine on screen," Kat said with a shrug. "Not all of us are complete idiots."

"Yeah, I know," Sam chuckled. "I think at this point if I walked into the theater alone, Ed would probably bolt through the back door. Or call the cops."

"Sam," she said, very seriously. "We are the cops."

"The real cops, Kat. You know, the ones who could find out that we're not actually feds? I don't think tearing the ears off suspects is considered general protocol."

"So? Just pull rank on them and have them take it up with Bobby." Kat shrugged, and fought back a smirk. "God, you just leapt in and tried to pull his ear off? Idiot!"

"Shut up."

"No, really. I wish I could have seen that."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't as funny as seeing Kat the Bar Wench fight Dracula in stilettos."

That quickly shut her up.

Funny as the situation might have sounded, Sam was right to bring Kat to the movies. Ed was sweeping in the lobby when they arrived, and scampered fast when he spotted them. He ran into a door on his way out, and knocked over a garbage can. However, that must have been fairly normal behavior for Ed, since none of the other employees seemed to pay him much mind. So Sam purchased their tickets as if nothing was wrong, and they headed into the theater.

The movie itself was, in Kat's opinion, nothing spectacular. She knew that it wouldn't be. She could understand it for what it was, appreciate it for a good story or good film or whatever the hell it was supposed to be. But horror and monster movies had never been her thing, even before she was a hunter. And now that she knew about things that bumped in the night, she did her best to avoid them in every aspect of her life. She dealt with enough crazy shit without having to pay to watch it with popcorn.

But there was an added bonus that she hadn't expected. Knowing the truth about vampires, knowing what they were really like and what they really did and how they really lived, made the movie that much more ridiculous. On her own, it would have been another reason to pick up and move on before the movie was over. But now she had Sam sitting next to her.

He giggled maniacally at the effects, and grinned at all the stupid ideas part that talked about garlic and mirrors. At some points, his face was actually hidden in his hands to stop the laughter.

Kat was sure he was hamming it up. There was no way it was _that_ funny, even if it was ridiculously inaccurate. But whether his reaction was genuine or not, it made Kat laugh too. Sam's giggles would draw stares, and she'd have to hit him to shut up. He would make some stupid comment about the characters and Kat would have to bite the inside of her cheeks to keep from bursting out. It was ridiculous and annoying. And it was fun.

"The movie's not supposed to be realistic," Sam defended as they walked back to the town square. They'd stopped at a food stand on the way, and were splitting another giant pretzel between the two of them. Sam withheld a bite from Kat, forcing her to look at him. "It's a drama. It's not real."

"But vampires are real," said Kat, snatching the pretzel from him. "And that's not what they're like."

"So? Human mutations are real too. Isn't stopping anyone from watching _The Final Stand._ "

"What's that?"

"Um…the last X-Men movie?" Sam cocked an eyebrow, looking at her strangely. But Kat simply shook her head. "Have you never seen any of the X-Men movies?"

"Nope."

"…For real?"

"Movies aren't my thing," she said with a shrug. "Actually, I can't remember the last time I went to see something in theaters."

"Wow. What _do_ you do?" She glared at him, and he immediately held up his hands. "No, seriously. What do you do when you're not at work? For fun?"

"For fun?" Kat bit her lip, racking her brains for something interesting to say. She didn't come up with much. "I don't know. I hunt, I run. Watch crime shows with my mom."

"That I know," he laughed. "God, she still watches all of that? I remember the first time I came over, and the moment she found out I was pre-law she just went off talking _Law and Order._ The whole dinner."

"Parental hazing," Kat said with a grin. "But you held up pretty well, if I remember."

"Yeah, well." Sam shrugged sheepishly. "Like you said. Hotel television."

"It's all she watches," said Kat, rolling her eyes. "Which is probably why she's so paranoid."

"I don't think she's paranoid. She's just worried."

"She doesn't have to. I'm fine."

Sam gave her a doubtful look, which Kat ignored. She didn't want to get into that conversation at the moment—what she did, how often she risked her life, how Sam and her mother kept ganging up on her to prove her wrong. Not the kind of subject that would keep her in a good mood.

"So what do you do?" she asked instead. "You and Dean, when you're not hunting."

"Um, anything really. We go to the movies a lot, bars if we need some cash. Sometimes we'll go to concerts, drive for festivals, tourist traps."

"So you two are just a regular American road trip, huh?"

"Totally," he said with a laugh. "I mean, it's not like every weekend's a theme park. If we don't have anywhere to go, sometimes we just end up parking the Impala in a field with a few beers, hanging out and sleeping there. But uh…I guess when you spend most days hunting, you learn to appreciate the downtime."

"Downtime," she said wistfully. "I can't even remember the last time I had downtime."

"Well…maybe that's part of the problem."

"Excuse me?" Kat glared at him without her normal conviction. "You saying I've got a problem, Winchester?"

"I'm just saying you're kinda intense," he said. "Just something to think about."

Kat did think about it, for the rest of their walk. She listened as Sam talked about the various adventures he'd taken with Dean—sneaking into concerts, going to car shows, even the one time he'd dragged Dean through a free museum. She had little to nothing to contribute to the conversation, but neither of them minded. Sam got to talk and talk, and Kat simply got to laugh. A weird feeling around Sam Winchester, but a good one.

Dean was waiting for them when they got to town square. Or maybe waiting wasn't a good word, as he was still keeping himself occupied with Jamie. The two of them were still proudly sucking face outside of the bar. Kat wondered mildly how they'd managed to break themselves apart long enough to walk here.

Sam cleared his throat as they walked up, making Dean resurface for a brief moment to glance behind him. He leaned down for one last kiss, and then backed away to join them. Jamie waved at the three of them, and then disappeared into the bar.

"Good night?" asked Sam.

"Great night." Dean started a low whistle, but it petered off at Kat's look. "I mean, everything was fine and uh…Jamie will be safe and prepared for the future."

"Right," Kat snorted. She looked back at the bar, pouting thoughtfully. "You know? I liked her."

"Really?" asked Dean.

"Yeah. She was smart, funny, kinda kick ass. She's got low standards, but hey. Happens to the best of us."

"Ha ha. Very funny." They headed off towards the Impala, and Dean nudged Sam with his elbow. "See? Doesn't it feel good to get back on the job? Hero gets the girl, monster gets the gank—all in all, happy ending. With a happy ending, no less."

Kat did gag this time, and Sam chuckled.

"Really classy, Dean."

"Hey, don't hate the player, hate the game."

"Yeah," said Kat, pulling out her phone. "That's definitely my cue to leave."

"What? No," said Sam. He looked vaguely panicked. "Please, Kat. I promise he shuts up sometimes."

"No, you're right. I'm sorry," said Dean, shaking his head. "You played wingman, and I don't talk about it. That was the deal. My bad."

"It's not you two," said Kat. She held up her phone. "I called a cab. I've got a flight to catch."

"Already?"

Sam could hear the blatant disappointment in his voice. He'd been having fun for a change, with Kat for a change. Not just another day of laughing with Dean when they both knew they were still mad at each other. There was still tension with Kat, the pain was still there, but it was so relieving to talk to someone else for a change. It felt free.

She smirked, and he had a feeling she could guess all of the thoughts in his head.

"Yeah, well some of us have real jobs to get back to. And need medical attention. Not that this hasn't been a total blast, but uh…I don't want to be here."

"Hey, at least let us drive you to the airport," offered Dean. "Least we can do."

"I appreciate it, but I'm good. Cab's gonna be here in a minute, so I just have to pick up my stuff from the hotel. Besides, I don't want to get into the middle of this brother-dynamic you guys have going on. You two do your thing. American road trip."

Kat winked at him, and Sam forced himself to smile.

"Well…thanks for coming out, Kat. I know you didn't want to, but we really appreciate the help."

"Yeah, nice to have back up," added Dean. "Looks like you survived your first Winchester hunt."

"Yeah, well next time, if there's costumes involved? Don't call me."

They all stood there, waiting on something more than the cab. Sam shot Dean a furtive look, which Dean ignored until he was elbowed in the ribs.

"Ah—and thank you for…your help last night. You were right about the Wikipedia pages, you were right about Lucy and uh…you did sorta…help me out with the shifter, right at the end there, so…" He glanced over at Sam, who was still staring at him. "And uh…I'm sorry for being on your case the whole time. You know, I know I can be 'annoying' or whatever so…thanks for putting up with me, I guess."

He rolled his eyes, and Kat chuckled.

"Save it, Dean. I don't need you to apologize."

"You, uh…you don't?"

"I'm sure genuine Dean Winchester apologies are few and far between. I'd hate to have a counterfeit. Besides, I'm not sorry for calling you a manwhore, so let's just leave it at that."

Sam deflated, wiping a hand down his face. Dean, on the other hand, cracked a smile.

"Alright, then. Sounds good to me." He offered her a hand, and shook it with a wink. "Take care of yourself, Kit Kat."

"Yeah. Don't call me that."

"Tinkerbell it is then."

She flipped him off, and turned back to Sam. "This time I'm not killing him for free. But next time, you owe me."

"Understood."

He hesitated for a moment, but after a week of saying goodbye to her, Sam decided he was done waiting. He stepped forward, pulling her into a light hug that she broke almost immediately. He held his breath, but was relieved to see that she was still smiling. Still, she leaned up, smacking him lightly on the face.

"Good talk. Well, try not to get yourself killed. And good luck with the Apocalypse."

Kat gave them both a small salute, and walked out of the courtyard.

"Jeez, finally," Dean sighed, earning himself a whack on the arm from Sam. "What?"

"Come on. She's not that bad."

"Alright, fine. I'll give you that," Dean conceded. "She's uptight, and she's definitely a bitch, but still. Not bad."

"See? Backup is good."

"Okay, well let's not take it too far. We still had to go charging in after her ass when she got kidnapped." Dean held his hand out for the keys to the Impala, and they started their walk back to the parking lot. "You seem pretty down in the dumps about her leaving though. You need to cry for a little bit, or are you good?"

"Shut up." Sam laughed, shaking his head a bit. But the weight was still in his chest. "It's just nice, you know? To talk to her. Makes me feel like maybe, if I keep trying, there might be a way to make up for all the awful shit I've done."

"Mighty hopeful of you," said Dean. "Been a while since you sounded that optimistic. You two have a great night too?"

"No," said Sam pointedly. "We just finally got a chance to talk this morning, and…you know. It felt good."

"So your date went well."

"It wasn't a date, Dean."

"You pay for it?" He watched Sam carefully, and shrugged when he remained silent. "Yeah. Then that's a date."

"You only say that because you don't have any actual friends."

"Hey, I have tons of friends, alright? I have so many friends, you wouldn't even believe it."

"Yeah, you're right. I wouldn't."

"Shut the hell up, man."

They finally got back to the car, Dean taking his seat behind the wheel as Sam slid in the other side. He leaned back, waiting for Dean to kick the engine, to pump the stereo and peel off. But he didn't. Sam looked over and found Dean watching him expectantly.

"What?"

"Well? Did you tell her?"

Sam deflated. No, he hadn't told her. And if he was being honest, he wasn't sure if he'd ever really tried.

He'd had a plan when he woke up in the morning. He wanted to repair his relationship with Kat, obviously. But he couldn't do that while he was still lying to her. There was something in his chest pushing him to tell her about the demon blood, the full extent of his powers. He wasn't sure if she'd understand, or if it would just wedge them farther apart when she found out he was using the gifts that had gotten her sister killed. But he had been using them to help people, trying to make good from the curse that had taken so many things in his life. He thought that maybe if he could make Kat understand that, he could move forward a little faster.

But he hadn't been able to. They'd gotten to the movie, and she'd laughed and hit him just like she would have years before when the three of them were watching movies in the living room. He couldn't jeopardize a moment like that with the truth. He didn't want to.

Dean seemed to guess what had happened without an answer.

"Sorry, man," he sighed, staring out the window. "Maybe you can get her next time."

"Yeah. Next time."

Dean looked over at him, frowning.

"You don't have to tell her, you know. I know that you feel bad and all that shit, but she's not wrapped up in this crazyfest. You're not a bad person for trying to keep her on need to know."

"I know," said Sam, unconvinced. "But…I do have to tell her. I want to do this right."

"Alright. But next time you take a go at doing things right, wear a cup, huh?"

Sam snorted as Dean started up the Impala.

"Maybe the shifter had a point, you know?" he continued. "It would be nice if life was movie simple. No pressure, good lighting. Sure, some shit goes topside three quarters in, but it all gets fixed by the finale."

"Sounds good to me."

"Although, if I was turning life into a movie, I wouldn't do this 'Abbott and Costello Meet the Monster' crap."

"Yeah," said Sam, nodding. "No, I know what you'd pick."

"No, you don't," Dean laughed.

"Yeah, I do."

"No, you don't. You don't."

"Porky's II."

"…What?"

"You heard me."

Dean froze, turning to meet Sam's smug smile with surprise. He pouted, kicking the Impala into gear.

"Lucky guess." Sam laughed, and Dean brandished a finger at him. "Yeah, laugh it up, Gigantor. Like you wouldn't choose some lame ass romcom so you could patch things up with Barbie doll back there. I'll tell you what you should pick—some kinda Animal Planet documentary. That way you can finally get laid."

"Dean."

"No, for real. That's why you're so damn uptight. Both of you. I'm just trying to help you out."

"Can you just help out by driving?" asked Sam, shaking his head. "I'm starving."

"Sure you ain't thirsty?" Sam glared at him, and Dean held up a hand. "Alright, done. Lunch it is."


	15. Chapter 15

**TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter deals heavily with themes of grief and alcohol abuse. Please proceed with caution.**

* * *

The apartment was empty. It was quiet and dark, all of the blinds and curtains drawn to a close. The sun was already beginning to sink, the sky congealing to a darker blue. There was plenty of light on the street—streetlamps and headlights, lights shining from houses and stores, or flickering inside of jack-o-lanterns. Most of them were rotting, having peaked and reached the end of their season. Still, the stubborn few flickered on. But inside the apartment, none of the lamps turned on. It grew quieter, and darker.

A few picture frames had been forced onto their faces, the occupants now hidden from view. Some of them had gone missing altogether. They were either packed in suitcases and driven miles away, or relocated to different rooms. But their places sat unfilled on the shelf, wide gaps of spotless paint where dust had forgotten to collect.

Many of them had been moved to the first bedroom. They stood in a line across the desk, the faces smiling out unseeing into the darkness. The space around them was peppered with empty glasses, or dead bottles laying on their sides.

A cell phone flashed on the bedside table, the first sign of life in hours. It hummed against the wood, rattling and inching itself closer to the edge. It teetered for a moment, then went dark. Its messages were unanswered. The room returned to its quiet.

A minute later, somewhere in a different room, a phone trilled. The sound sliced through the silence once more. It rang uselessly, just like the cell, until the answering machine took pity on it. There was a loud beep.

 _"Hey guys! It's Harley, just calling in with my report. Everything's totally fine down here. Another successful, Warrior Women day. Classes are fine, electricity's fine, plumbing is…adequate. There's only been like…three fires and one small apocalypse so, nothing I can't handle solo… That was a joke, obviously. A really bad one, um… I don't really have anything to say about the gym, but I guess I'm just calling to let you both know that…I'm here if you need anything. We all are, and we hope you're both doing okay."_

Another beep.

The blankets on top of the mattress stirred. A grip from underneath pulled them tight around the vague shape of a body. One hand clutched its corner tightly. So long at the blanket covered the whole form, it was a barrier to protect from the outside world. Nothing else had to be real if the blanket did its job. It protected everything inside, and blocked anything else from getting in. With one small exception.

Kat reached out from under the blanket, grabbing a bottle of whiskey off the nightstand and pulling it under the covers.

She knew Harley was concerned about her. Everyone probably was. But this was normal. This was the new normal, and it had been for the past three years. Her mother had gone—driven off for a week to some undisclosed location. Probably Vegas. Maybe farther. And Kat would spend that time locked up inside the apartment, sustaining herself off wine, dry cereal, and whatever else happened to be leftover in the fridge. The only change was that this year, she'd upgraded to something with a higher alcohol content.

When she'd killed another bottle, Kat finally resigned herself to the idea that she'd have to get out of bed. She had no idea what time it was, or how long she'd been lying there. All she knew was that it was the first time she'd gotten up since she'd woken up. However long ago that was.

She stood and picked up her phone, intending to check the time but forgetting almost immediately. The room spiraled around her, and she had to grab the edge of the table to steady herself. She hated this feeling—the fuzziness, the dizziness, the nausea. That was the price she paid for drinking. But she wasn't sure she could handle the alternative—the sharp, stinging pain in her chest, her mind just as frozen but alert and focused on one thing, one face. She'd take the numbness over the pain. Health and coping be damned.

Her feet, which had been heading for the kitchen, quickly pivoted and rushed for the bathroom. Her legs buckled before the toilet, and she barely had enough time to lift the lid before she wretched again. She tried to hold her hair out of her face, but it was difficult. Holding her hair, holding herself up, holding onto the shower curtain for all she was worth so that she wouldn't slip down or scream out. She gagged again, and somewhere beyond the ache in her head, a familiar thought registered. She was alone. No one to hold her hair or comfort her. No one to tell her it would be alright. Alone, sickly and pathetic on the floor, drenched in sweat, sick, and alcohol.

Kat let out a hoarse sob, and leaned back against the bathtub. Some painful thoughts were too strong for the alcohol to overcome. Loneliness was one of them.

She cried until her dehydrated body ran out of tears again. Then she sat on the floor for a while longer. She stared into space and contemplated the weight of her own limbs, the weight her thoughts might have added to her body. The tub dug into her back, and her legs were tucked underneath her at a strange angle. Whether it was the alcohol in her blood or the numbness in her brain, she didn't feel it. She was too tired to move.

At some point, her phone went off again. She pulled it from the pocket of her oversized hoodie, and struggled to bring the words on the screen into focus.

 _"Decided to stay a few more days. I'll let you know when I'm on my way home. Check in when you can. Love you, Mom."_

Kat didn't have the energy to laugh. She wasn't sure she had the drive to either. Every year, her mother took some mysterious road trip to get away from it all, to escape from all the reminders of the life she used to live. She couldn't look Kat in the face without breaking down, so she didn't look at Kat at all. She simply left. That was probably for the best, because then she didn't have to watch Kat struggle. Kat's tradition was to drown herself in liquor and not talk to anyone. She didn't have the high ground where coping mechanisms were concerned.

She'd never expected her mother to come home in time, but it'd been nice to hope. Because at the bottom of it all, Katherine did not want to be alone.

The message disappeared, displaying a list of her recent texts. Her mother was at the top, most recent, and most frequently used. Beneath that was Harley, a mix of work and personal condolences. An alert from her credit card company. Another employee calling out sick. And just below that…

Had she been sober, she wouldn't have dared. Luckily, Kat hadn't been sober in several days.

She dialed the number, doing her best to wipe her face as the phone rang. It stopped, and Kat had to jerk the phone away from her face as rock music began blaring out of it. She could barely hear Sam's voice on the other end, berating Dean for turning up the radio when he was on the phone. She sniffled, and her tired lips pulled into a smile.

 _"Hey! Hey, Kat. What's up?"_

"M'good." Her voice was croaky, and it stung her throat as she spoke. She scrunched up her nose at the sound of the words. "No, uh… Nothing. What's up with you?"

 _"Not much. Just wrapped up a case, so we're pretty much just driving until we find the next one."_

"Mm. How'd it go?"

 _"Uh…not great."_

"Monster win?"

 _"No, we killed 'em, it just uh…still doesn't feel like a win."_

"Let me guess. It's complicated."

 _"Ha. Yeah, when isn't it?"_

"See, it's—it's always complicated with you two," said Kat, tipping her head back to stare at the ceiling. The walls started rotating again, but she didn't have the energy to sit up. "It's never just like…a case. It's always something big, or weird, or angsty, or demonic. Your normal is like…like _way_ past anyone else's idea of normal. Your normal is like…a weird ass nightmare from a person in a coma with a high fever, or…or someone who's just really, really drunk…"

 _"Kat, are you sure you're okay?"_

"Me? Pff. Yeah, I'm—I'm fine. I'm not the one dealing with the freaking Apocalypse, anyway, so I can't complain. I'm totally…"

A wave of nausea passed over her again, and Kat quickly had to clamp her mouth shut. She pushed herself forward, resting her head on the side of the toilet until the moment had passed. At least she wouldn't have to move so much the next time she needed to be sick.

There was an annoying, tinny sound, and Kat blinked at the phone in her hand. Why had she decided to use the phone? That was a terrible idea. Why was she still on the phone?

The noise got louder, and she realized the annoyance was Sam's voice. Reluctantly, she held the phone back to her ear.

 _"Kat? Kat, are you alright?"_

"Sorry. Like I said, I'm fine."

 _"Kat, are…are you drunk?"_

She laughed, and regretted it. Just hearing the word "drunk" out loud made the room spin a little faster.

"Uh, yeah. That's one word for it. Honestly, the line between drunk and hungover started blurring about 48 hours ago."

He sighed her name. There were some more mumbled words she couldn't make out. The radio shut off, and Sam returned to the phone without distraction.

 _"Kat,"_ he said softly. _"It's okay."_

The world blurred and bled around her. She wasn't sure when she'd started crying again. She wiped vigorously at her face, trying and failing to keep the tremble out of her voice.

"I just—Sam, I miss her."

 _"I know. I do too."_

"I miss everything. I miss having my best friend. I miss being able to go to sleep at night. I miss not having to watch the news twice cause I was looking for some kind of omen or suspicious death. I just—life was hard enough, you know?"

 _"I know, Kat."_

"Do you remember the first time you came to the gym?" she asked, a smile as weak as her voice. "You'd just started dating Jess, and I had to give you the big, bad older sister talk and…I think I kinda scared you back then. And now…"

She looked down at herself in disgust. The sweat drenched sweatshirt, the vomit in her hair. It was a relief her tears were so thick it was difficult to see.

"Well now I'm just a wreck, and you…shit, you've died. You're not afraid of anything."

 _"That's not true. And I'm definitely still scared of you."_

Kat gave a watery laugh, and pressed her face against the toilet again. The cool surface helped the throbbing in her head, the same way Sam's voice helped weird prickly feeling lodged in the bottom of her throat.

 _"Look, Dean and I are just crossing into Indiana now. It'll take us a day or two, but we're on our way."_

"No, Sam, I didn't mean…"

 _"Kat,"_ he said firmly. _"I meant what I said. Anything you need. I'm…I'm glad you called."_

"Yeah. Me too."

She heard herself say it, powerless against the alcohol pumping through her veins and into her brain. But Sam was merciful enough not to comment.

 _"Just hang in there, okay? Take a shower, get something to eat, and uh…maybe put the bottle down."_

"Ha. I was just trying to be _fun_."

 _"Rule number one? Never take coping advice from Dean."_

She just heard the grumbled noise of protest, and it tugged another smile out of her.

 _"You gonna be okay?"_ asked Sam.

"Yeah," she said. "Not the first hard year, won't be the last. Well. Unless it's the Apocalypse, in which case, it might be. That's something to look forward to."

 _"Not funny."_

"I thought it was."

 _"I'll see you in a few days. And seriously, if you need anything, just…"_

"Just call, yeah I got it. Thanks, Mom."

Kat ended the call, cutting him off mid-chuckle. She wished she hadn't. The empty silence was more unnerving after hearing Sam's voice. Now she was alone again, with only the slight hum of the bathroom fan to keep her company.

She picked up a strand of her own hair, sticky with sweat and flecks of sick. Sam was right. Probably time to take a shower.

It was difficult to keep her mind from wandering. Walking to get clean clothes meant re-entering her room, where she'd set up her depressing portrait gallery. She did her best to avoid Jessica's eyes, her father's smile. She'd even propped up one of Marcus's fake marshal badges, just so he could judge her as she drank herself into oblivion. Kat wasn't sure if he'd tell her she was being a baby, or that he was proud.

She quickly flipped the card over, face down on the desk. She couldn't let herself dwell on it. If she could just keep her mind occupied, maybe she could make it through a fifteen-minute shower without another breakdown.

Instead, she did what she'd always done when she found herself being sad about Jess. She thought about Sam Winchester instead.

For years, Kat had channeled her sadness about her sister's death into her anger at Sam. Blaming him was easier than facing the truth, easier than coping or feeling the pain. But these days she was finding it a lot harder to blindly hate Sam. Since their hunt in Pennsylvania, he'd texted her several times. He was never pushy, but he was clearly making an effort to prove that he hadn't forgotten about her. They talked about hunts, about her classes at the gym, about movies. Not that Kat would ever admit it, but she'd gone out to the movie theater for the first time in years because Sam had mentioned dragging Dean to see some Anne Hathaway movie. It'd turned out to be a bad idea—not just because she'd hated the movie—but because she'd then had to tell Sam she'd enjoy it just to avoid agreeing with Dean. Sam had rattled on about the thriller's complexity, and Kat had chimed in with vague agreements, letting him go on. It had taken some effort to stop herself from telling him to shut up. But it was an effort she made. And that was progress.

They still weren't friends, though. Not like they'd used to be.

Kat thought past the way Sam had hugged her at Jess's funeral, past the pop quizzes before his LSATs, past helping the couple move into their apartment. She couldn't remember the first time she'd ever met him. It would have been something uneventful, some rushed introduction as Jess headed off to a study group or a campus event with her friends. But what she did remember was that first day Sam had come to the gym.

She'd already been hard at work, warming up in one of the classrooms. She was alone, with no classes or other members in sight. Things had been slow then, but it was worth the rent just to have her own space to clear her head.

Kat's punches on her training post were relentless. She was working on a new sequence, and she was starting to feel like it was more trouble than it was worth. Her skin stung with each strike, warning her that she was pushing too hard, leaning into the blows rather than pulling them. But Kat was determined.

With a final smack, she rammed herself into the padding, which shook dangerously where it stood. It wasn't a very enthusiastic reaction, but it was the best she could hope from an inanimate object.

Kat panted, allowing her lips to form a small smile. Then she quickly swiped up her notebook, and jotted down as many of the actions as she could remember.

"Knock, knock!"

A blonde head of hair popped through the glass door, frizzy curls tumbling around that beaming smile. Jess glanced down the hallway before slipping through the door, bouncing on her toes. Her arms swung at her side, overly casual, and she was still smiling like a fog light.

"You're late," Kat observed, glancing at the clock on the wall.

"By like ten minutes," said Jess, rolling her eyes. "Besides, I don't _actually_ work for you."

"Oh, so you didn't want that bonus check, huh?" Jess pursed her lips, and Kat smirked down at her notebook. "Yup. That's what I thought."

"Come on, Kat. I just…had to pick someone up."

That made her stop, and Kat looked up with a furrowed brow. "Someone?"

Jess bit her lip, taking a few steps back towards the door. Still, she lifted a warning finger to her sister.

"Be nice. Seriously."

"Please. I'm always nice. Sometimes."

She ignored Jess's withering look, and dropped the notebook back to the floor.

When Jess returned, she was dragging a gigantic boy along with her. Well, that was probably a bit of an overstatement. He didn't appear too tall next to Jess, but Jess was already several inches taller than her sister. Compared to Kat, the boy might as well have been a giant.

Kat tensed on instinct, sizing him up despite Jess's carefree laugh. But he didn't immediately present as a threat. He looked more scared than anything, reluctantly shuffling his feet as Jess toted him into the room. Shaggy brown hair fell into big brown eyes, which were unmistakably nervous.

"Sam, you remember my sister Katherine," said Jess, exaggerating her wave across the room. "Kat, this is Sam Winchester."

"Right, of course."

Kat wiped a hand across her sweaty forehead, restraining her smile. She vaguely recognized the kid from some previous encounters, but Sam was someone she knew more by name. Jess had been going on about him for months—about how he was so sweet, and so smart, and so cute. Kat always listened patiently. They ran in the same circle of friends, and Jess had been silently fawning over him from the start. But charming as Sam seemed to be, the words "first move" did not seem to be in his vocabulary. Luckily for him, it didn't hinder Jessica in the slightest.

Kat remembered how Jess had nearly kicked down her door one day, bursting in and falling back on her bed, giggling like an escaped madman. She'd finally done it. She'd asked out Sam Winchester, and he'd said yes.

That had been a few weeks ago, and the crazy chatter had calmed down. Mostly because Jess was spending so much of her time with Sam that she wasn't home to chat about him. But things must have been going well. Otherwise, she wouldn't have brought him here. Kat's blessing was part one of the Meet the Family plan. Which meant that it was time for some gentle hazing.

"Nice to see you again, Sam. I'd shake, but…"

Kat gestured down at her sweat-drenched body. She wasn't even sure how long she'd been working at this point.

"Oh no, it's fine," he said good-naturedly. "It's a really great place you've got here."

"Thank you."

"Isn't it awesome?" Jess agreed. "She's been in business for four months already. _And_ she's already doubled her membership goal."

"Okay, let's not get crazy. My goal was like, hopefully at least one person."

"She's modest," Jess argued, giving Sam a very pointed look. "But she's incredible at what she does. She's been working on opening this place for ages, so that she can really help people. And she's got all these plans for defense courses and seminars and therapy groups. It's amazing."

"Wow. Yeah, it—it sounds incredible."

Sam nodded enthusiastically, but was clearly at a loss for a real response. Rather than target the awkward lull, Kat took pity on him.

"Well, it's not without help. Jess goes over all my books and pitches in with social media marketing. Which, incidentally, is what she's supposed to be doing right now."

"About that," said Jess, with a sheepish smile. "Sam and I were gonna go to the movies later, but since he doesn't have his own car, I thought it would be easier if he just…maybe…stayed in the back with me while I'm working."

Kat only got as far as raising an eyebrow before Jess launched into hyper-speed.

"I know that it's a women's gym and I know your policy, but I promise I'll keep him on lockdown. We'll just stay in your office while I'm crushing the paperwork, and then no one will even know he's here! Promise! Otherwise I have to drive him home and then drive back, and then I'll be even more late, and then I'll have to go pick him up again before the movie and…"

Kat waved Jess into silence, and crossed her arms over her chest. She eyed Sam up again, enjoying the way he fidgeted nervously under her gaze. She could see what drew Jess to him. He towered over the both of them, but seemed about as jumpy as skittish dog. Jess had always had a thing for puppy dog eyes.

She'd already known what she was going to say. But she waited a while longer so he could sweat it out.

"Fine. He can stay. _But_ I have conditions."

"Kat," said Jess warningly, but Kat shrugged.

"Hey, my business, my rules. He can stay _if_ he promises not to be a distraction. I'm serious, Sam. Not one impure thought about my little sister within a ten mile radius of this building."

"No!" Sam said quickly. "No, obviously. Not at all. Promise."

"Good answer. If you need to leave, even to the bathroom, you go out the backdoor to the next building. That way no one sees you. And…you have to step on the mat."

"Katherine, no. No way."

"What?" Kat asked innocently, immune to Jess's glare. "You're the one who said he could fight."

"I said he used to be on the wrestling team!"

"That true, Sam?"

Sam clearly hadn't been expecting to be part of this argument, because he jumped and spluttered when Kat addressed him.

"Oh, I—I mean, yeah, a few years ago. For like…a couple weeks."

"See? He knows what he's doing."

"Kat, it was wrestling. That's not even close to the same thing."

"Okay, so I'll go easy on him."

"No way." Jess glowered at Kat's satisfied grin, and grabbed Sam's hand. "Come on, Sam. She's bluffing."

"Oh no, I'm not. You shouldn't have brought him here without asking. If he wants to stay, then he has to fight."

Jess ignored her, trying to pull Sam back toward the hallway. But Sam wouldn't move. He still looked a little scared, but he was holding his ground. He considered her for a moment, before nodding. Kat beamed.

"Sam," Jess said incredulously. "You do not have to do this. You've got nothing to prove here."

"I know, it's fine. I…I got this."

"Babe…" Jess relented, wearing a very indulgent smile. "You're great, but…she's gonna kick your ass."

Sam laughed, looking down at her in surprise. "What? You don't trust me?"

"That's not what I said…" Jess countered, looking very shifty.

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence. But I promise. I got this."

He kissed the top of Jess's head, and she threw her arms up in defeat. "Alright, whatever. It's your funeral."

Jess walked off to the side of the room, slumping down against the wall so she could watch from a safe distance. Sam shrugged off his jacket and tossed it to her as he stretched out his limbs. Kat pushed the smirk off her face, getting down to business.

"Alright then. Let's see what you've got, Samuel."

He cracked a smile at that. Then he squared off his shoulders, ready.

At first, they just circled each other. Kat was doing quick calculations and comparisons. It had been a while since she'd actually sparred with a man, especially one of Sam's stature. Being in the gym had offered her the chance to practice, but only with other women, most of whom were less experienced that she was. Kat didn't want to underestimate Sam and end up on the wrong end of that mistake.

She looked for an easy window, jabbing at his chest and giving him ample time to block her. He deflected her easily, and centered himself again. Kat took another few swings, each of which Sam blocked with perfect timing. And each time, he came back to center with a steady eye and steady breath. He seemed determined to stay on the defensive, despite his situation.

Curiously, Kat aimed a kick near his hips. It took him off guard, and for the first time, he acted on instinct rather than strategy. He crossed his arms and then flipped them, blocking her leg before throwing it off course. It was a complex move, one that had Jess whooping from the side of the room. What it told Kat was that Sam had a lot more training than he was letting on. And that he was holding back.

She raised an eyebrow at him—a challenge.

Sam smiled sheepishly but nodded—acceptance.

It was only after that she goaded him into attempting a few strikes of his own. His punches were tight and calculated. He was still holding back to an extent, pulling punches where he easily could have taken her out. But it didn't bother Kat like she'd thought it would. He wasn't throwing the fight just so she would win. In fact, they seemed to be pretty equally matched in skill. They each landed a few punches, blocked punches, even knocked the breath out of each other a few times. But the tension in Sam's shoulders said that he wasn't using his full power any more than Kat was. He knew what he was capable of and could still show restraint, even when his dignity was at stake. That was something Kat could definitely admire.

They called it after Kat had finally brought Sam to the floor. She coaxed him into an upper cut, and when she dodged, she darted for his leg, buckling his knee right underneath him. He slammed to the mat, and Jess cheered from the sidelines.

"Whoo! That's _right!_ Take him down, Kat!"

"Who's team are you on?" Sam chuckled breathlessly from the floor.

"Hey," she said with a shrug, "I told you she was gonna obliterate you. You held up better than I thought though."

"Ha. Thanks."

Kat offered him her hand, and tugged him back onto his feet. He nodded his thanks, and she looked him over appraisingly. Then she narrowed her eyes.

"That wasn't wrestling training."

"Uh...sorry?"

"Yeah, I had no idea you could fight like that," added Jess, laying a hand on his arm. "Where did that come from, Jackie Chan?"

Sam looked back and forth between the two of them—Jessica impressed, Kat suspicious—and laughed nervously.

"I just uh...I have an older brother. Learned a lot."

"Ah," Jess sighed. "The joys of having an older sibling."

She stuck her tongue out at Kat, who rolled her eyes. She looked back at Sam, who was still looking shifty.

"So you've got top secret combat training, you were on the wrestling team, and now you're a brainiac in a pre-law program?"

"Yeah, I guess. I just...stopped being the person my family wanted me to be."

He pursed his lips, looking at her between his lashes. It was a feat since he was about a foot taller than her. But it was sincere.

Kat smiled, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Well. Aren't you just a well-rounded little nerd?"

"Alright, that's enough, Kat." Jess shoved her shoulder, and dragged Sam back toward the hallway. "You've had your fun. He's had enough."

"Nuh uh! One more thing."

Kat walked forward, pulling herself up to her full height as she leveled with Sam. She jabbed one finger into his chest, glaring up into his puppy dog eyes without remorse or restraint. He flinched, and she cocked an eyebrow.

"Now, Jess says you're a good guy. And I'm gonna have to take her word on that. She's my sister, and I trust her. But you remember. She is my sister. And if you hurt her—feelings, body, or mind—I'm not gonna hold back like we did today. I will kick your sorry ass all over this country, and you will never know a minute of rest afterwards. Understood?"

Sam looked down at her, wide eyed, and nodded feebly. "Uh, yeah. Understood."

"Okay, heel, Cujo," Jess chuckled. She pushed Kat a few feet farther back, and swiftly kissed her on the cheek. "We'll be in the back."

"Yeah, whatever. No funny business."

Jess pulled a face, tilting her hand back and forth as she pulled Sam out of the room.

"I'm serious, Jessica! I have security cameras!"

But they were already gone.

Kat sighed, grudgingly smiling at her feet. She knew that Jessica had to live her own life, make her own choices, her own mistakes. Kat couldn't protect her from everything. All she could do was play the protective older sister, rough up anyone who came too close.

She just wished it had been enough.

Her smile trembled, and she felt her tears mixing with the water. She couldn't remember turning it on, or getting in the shower. She couldn't remember collapsing in the tub so the water sprayed over her bruised knees. She couldn't remember when she'd started crying again, or if she'd never stopped.

That was two summers before Jess had died. Almost five whole years ago. It felt like an hour. It felt like a lifetime.

Kat bit her lip, trying to ignore the way her sobs sounded as they bounced off the bathroom walls. She was just going to have to suffer through it.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hey everyone! I want to thank you for all the support you've offered this story over the past few months. It's been nice to be able to post reliably for a change, and I'm so excited to share these moments I've already written for you all. Your words mean the world to me, and I hope you stick around to see where Kat's story goes.

I realize that this chapter was extremely heavy for the holiday season. It wasn't planned that way, it just sort of shook out. So to compensate, **I've written a small Christmas one shot available separately on my account.** _A Happy Old Year_ is a flashback chapter, which shows Kat, Sam, Dean and Jess in the winter of 2004. Let me know what you think!


	16. Chapter 16

It took them two days to get to California from Ohio. Dean bitched and moaned the whole way, but Sam refused to let him stop. He'd promised Kat he would be there for her, and he didn't plan on going back on his word again.

He hadn't heard from her since the first, and he was starting to get worried. His texts went unanswered, his phone calls unreceived. He kept replaying their last conversation in his head, her slurred words, her masked sobs. If that had been November first, he didn't want to think about what she'd been like on the second. He'd never heard Kat so broken. It was hard even for him to imagine.

They pulled into the apartment complex a little after noon, the parking lot half empty and the sun at its peak. Most of the Halloween decorations had been taken down, but a few pumpkin fragments still spotted the sidewalk. Sam was relieved. He'd always hated Halloween, but it'd been worse since Jess had died. He assumed Kat would feel the same. It would be more bearable without the reminders.

"Alright, just...take it easy on her, okay?" Sam pleaded as he and Dean headed up the stairs. "She's had a rough couple of days."

"Yeah, I got it. Best behavior."

"Dean, I'm serious. She was seriously wrecked on the phone. She doesn't need to put up with your shit."

"Dude, I got it, okay?" Dean said earnestly. "She lost her little sister, and she's a mess. I know the feeling."

Sam hesitated in front of the door, nodding soberly. He sometimes forgot that he had actually died a few years ago, that Dean had gone two days before he made his deal with the crossroad demon. Dean never talked about it, like with most things, but Sam had heard stories from Bobby. He hadn't eaten, slept, even moved from Sam's side. Forty-eight straight hours staring at Sam's corpse, alternating between crying and screaming.

Then their roles had been reversed. Sam would never forget the feeling of holding Dean's body in his arms, his eyes glassy and his face speckled with his own blood. He'd watched Dean die thousands of times, and it never got any easier. He'd been at his lowest, drowning in liquor, borderline suicidal, until he'd channeled his mourning into strict, militant rage and revenge.

Somehow, he didn't want to see either of those options on the other side of Kat's door.

Bracing himself for the worst, he knocked. The door swung open, and…

"Hey, you're early!" Kat grinned widely, and stepped aside to usher them into the apartment. "You made pretty good time. Floored it?"

"Uh, yeah," said Dean, shooting Sam a side glance. "Nurse Ratchet over here was a real pain about bathroom breaks."

"Sorry about that. Seriously, you guys didn't have to come."

"We wanted to," Sam said firmly. "Is everything…? I mean, how are you holding up?"

"I'm fine," Kat said with a shrug. "Mom's still out on vacation, so I've got the apartment to myself. I've been catching up on paperwork, cleaning…"

"Laundry," added Dean.

He nodded to the couch, where a pile of Kat's clothes was waiting to be folded. Namely, her underwear. Dean smirked, reaching for a lacy bra, but Kat smacked his hand out of the air just in time. She pushed him out of the way, looking surprisingly flustered.

"Yeah, just uh…gimme a minute."

Kat scooped up the pile and disappeared down the hall, leaving Sam and Dean to wait in the living room. They shared a look of confusion, but didn't risk voicing anything out loud.

It wasn't anything like he'd imagined. The blinds were open, letting sun into the room, the tables were tidy and spotless. There were no abandoned glasses, empty bottles, discarded plates or newspapers.

And Kat, he noticed as she returned to the room, looked nothing like the grieving sister he'd heard on the phone. Her hair was down and free, her face clear of any tears. She'd even put on makeup. Her shorts and tank top were both clean, and she wasn't carrying the scent of stale liquor like most hunters he knew. Far from messed up, she was almost glowing.

"Well if you two busted your asses to get here, I'm sure you're starving. You wanna do lunch?"

"Sounds great," said Dean, who'd taken the liberty of wandering around the room to explore. "Whatcha making?"

He peeked his head in the kitchen, only for Kat to scurry in front of him. She grabbed her car keys off the counter and backed him into the living room. Her strange, wide smile was still in place.

"Uh, actually grocery shopping was the last thing on my to do list, so I don't have a lot in the house. There's a sports bar a couple blocks away that's pretty good though. You guys good with wings?"

"Sweetheart, you had me at 'bar.'"

Kat shot him a half-hearted glare, and turned to Sam.

"Um…sure," he said hesitantly. "I guess we'll just follow you in our car."

"Great. Catch ya there."

She spun her keys around her fingers, waiting for them to pass out to the front again. She locked the door behind her, and then headed down to her car without so much as a second glance at them.

Sam and Dean climbed right back into the Impala and settled in the front seat. But Dean did not start the car.

"That was weird, right?" asked Sam, turning to him. "That wasn't just me?"

"I don't know," Dean sighed. "I mean, I wasn't the one signing yearbooks with her. But considering I went for her bra and she didn't flip into Terminator mode, I'd say that qualifies as weird."

"I just don't get it. When I talked to her on the phone she was—she was wrecked. She was drunk, she was sick, and now…now it's like none of it ever happened."

"Maybe she blacked out. I got a peek in the kitchen? Either the chick was filling a swimming pool, or she's got the backdoor to a liquor store in her recycling bin."

Sam sagged in his seat, wiping a hand down his face. "Damnit, Kat…"

"Dude, so what?" Dean was watching him curiously, completely at a loss. "She took off work, got drunk, and put her life back together. That's pretty common as far as coping mechanisms go. I mean, she looks better that I usually do after a bender."

"That's not the point," Sam sighed, shaking his head. "Dean…I've never seen Kat more than two drinks in. Ever, okay? A couple days ago, I'd never even imagined her in the realm of being drunk. Even tipsy. I figured she was just private about it, but this… I guess I just didn't know that it was this bad."

"Death does that to people," Dean said simply. "Hell, life does that to people. But end of the day, she's still truckin' on. That's all that really matters."

"I guess. It just doesn't feel right to me."

"Doesn't feel right like you don't wanna see it happen? Or like it's time to break out a motherfucking exorcism?"

"Honestly? I'm not sure."

Dean groaned.

"Alright, well, only one way to find out. We'll run a couple tricks over lunch, stay under the radar, see if anything makes your demon senses tingle." Sam's jaw clicked, and he turned to his brother with a hard glare. But Dean waved him off. "Calm down, Boy Wonder, it's just an expression. Seriously, don't worry about it. Whatever's up, we'll figure it out."

Sam wasn't completely sold on that, but he didn't have time to argue. Kat's Prius pulled up in front of them, beeping her horn before she led the way out of the parking lot. Dean made a few choice comments about her dumbass car, but pulled into the street after her.

The bar was fairly empty by the time they arrived. It was the slump between the lunch rush and dinner, which gave them their pick of tables. They found a booth near the corner, someplace they could talk without being overheard or given strange looks, and had their order taken almost right away. Sam ordered a chicken sandwich, Dean his bacon cheeseburger, and Kat…

"Can I have the large order of boneless wings please? Medium, hot, and honey barbecue. And then I'm also going to get an order of the loaded fries, the curly fries, and a side of mac and cheese please. Oh, and a Coke."

Sam raised an eyebrow as the waitress walked away. "Um…hungry?"

"What? Like I said, I haven't gotten the chance to go to the supermarket."

"You've been eating though, right?"

"Yeah. Obviously." Kat unrolled her silverware, taking the paper band in her hands and picking at the edges. "Anyway, how was the case? You said it was tough, right?"

"Oh yeah," said Dean, chuckling shiftily. "Uh… _Jesus Christo_ , that was a toughie."

Sam turned to glare at him. So much for staying under the radar. Dean simply shrugged innocently.

But if Kat noticed anything suspicious about their behavior, she didn't comment. There was no reaction to the words, besides small frown. That, at least, was a relief.

"Okay, so what were you dealing with?"

"Witches," Dean said sourly.

"Is that really that bad?"

"Dean hates witches," said Sam, leaning back in his seat. "Pretty much more than anything."

"Listen, everyone should hate witches," Dean defended. "They're messy, they're gross, and they're just…unsanitary."

"Unsanitary?" Kat laughed. "More unsanitary that a bunch of blood soaked corpses left behind by…I don't know, literally anything else we hunt?"

"It's not just humans! There's always all this crap like chicken heads and rabbit feet and skinned kittens. It's disgusting. And to make it worse, witches are pretty much just people. People who make really bad, sicko decisions."

"I don't get it. Shouldn't that make it easier?"

"Not really," said Sam. "Ghosts, monsters—they're all driven by something primal. They want to hunt, they need to eat, something like that. Witches do what they do voluntarily, usually anyway. They get their powers from demons, but they all have motives. People are hard to predict."

"People are _crazy_ ," Dean added emphatically, jabbing a finger on the table.

Kat snorted, but tipped her head in agreement.

"Alright, well what did the crazy witches want? Jilted lover, first born, prime real estate?" When neither of them answered her, the joking smirk faded. "Oh. That kind of tough."

"It turned out to be another seal," Sam explained. "Not that we knew that when we got there. Angels showed up a few days in to tell us that it was about the raising of Samhain, some powerful ancient demon who would have brought just about every other nasty thing with him."

"Cheery. But wait did you…?" She paused as the waitress brought their drinks over, then hastily lowered her voice. "Did you say that the angels showed up to talk to you? Like, in person?"

"Don't get too excited," Dean said, sipping his beer. "They're more asshole than halo."

"Fuck. Really?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "It was… Well, it didn't go great. They said they had to protect the seal at all costs, even if it meant blowing the whole town off the map."

 _"What?"_

"Hey, war's got casualties," Dean quoted bitterly. "Righteous pricks."

"And they just expected you to go along with it?"

"I guess. It is God's will, and all."

"Dean told them they'd have to kill us first," said Sam, nodding at his brother. "And that we'd protect the seal ourselves."

"And?" Kat asked. "Did you?"

Sam's face fell again, and he thumbed the side of his beer thoughtfully.

"Like I said, it wasn't a clean win. Town's still there, witches are dead, and we stopped Samhain, but…not in time to save the seal."

"What do you mean?" she demanded angrily. "You said you stopped him, right? Doesn't that mean seal saved?"

"Not enough," Dean said with a shrug. "The seal was the actual raising of Samhain, and he was still running around for a good thirty, forty minutes before we got a handle on him. So…one more seal down."

"How _did_ you get a handle on him?" Kat asked with interest. "I mean, Samhain? That's real powerful, ancient shit. Even I know that."

An awkward silence fell over the table, and Sam did his best to avoid Dean's eyes. There was no good way to explain to Kat how they'd beaten Samhain—at least, not without getting into a very long, volatile discussion first. Sam had sworn off his demon powers, told Dean he wouldn't use them, told himself that he didn't have to tell Kat because it wasn't really part of who he was. But they'd been pressed for time, and Sam hadn't seen any other option if they wanted to prevent the entire state becoming invested with nightmares.

Besides, it'd worked, hadn't it? It had barely been a minute, and he'd forced the demon back into the ground and saved hundreds, maybe thousands of lives. Wasn't that worth it? Wasn't that good?

He knew no one else saw it that way. Dean would go on about the cost, and Kat would probably stop listening after the word 'demon.' He knew he should tell her anyway, but it wasn't something he wanted to get into over a plate of hot wings.

"Nothing fancy," said Dean, patting Sam heavily on the arm. "Just an exorcism and some good old fashioned teamwork. Right, Sammy?"

"Yeah, right. Real easy."

Kat nodded, staring at them both with her characteristically blank face. Sam couldn't be certain whether she was impressed, or just suspicious.

"Wow," she sighed, puffing out her cheeks. "And here I was thinking you boys got all the fun cases. All movie monsters and kitty cats."

"Kitty…?" Dean blanched, and turned to Sam in outrage. "Dude! You told her about that?"

Sam couldn't repress a smile. "Ha, uh…sorry, man."

"I wish I could have seen that," Kat laughed. "Just a little kitten in a locker, and you just _losing_ it."

"Hey, look—first of all, I did not _lose it—"_

"Dude, you were screaming for like a solid thirty seconds."

"—and _second_ I was sick, alright? I was half-possessed by a ghost. So it was not _me_ that was afraid of a damn cat."

Kat did not dignify his defense with a verbal response. She just pouted, folding her hands up like kitten paws and scratching behind her imaginary kitten ears. Sam had to choke down the last sip of his beer.

"You're adorable," Dean shot sarcastically. "And seriously, when did you two get so buddy-buddy anyway?"

"Buddy? Eh." Kat pulled a face, tipping her hand. "But I'm always up for pissing you off."

"Or disagreeing," added Sam, with a smile. "Like pretending to like a movie you hated."

She looked at him with wide eyes, panic flashing before she put up a mask of innocence. "What do you mean?"

"Come on, Kat. I know you hated _Passengers_. I figured you would."

"Well then why the hell did you tell me to watch it, asshole?"

"You needed to get out," he said simply. "Besides, I was bored, and Dean didn't want to talk about it."

"You… You are just the worst. Fuck you, Sam."

"Look at the bright side," said Dean. "You left the house. And at least we know you've got good taste in something."

Sam's smirk widened, and he happily ignored the warning look that Kat had shot him.

"She hasn't seen X-Men."

"What?"

"It's not that big of a deal!"

But it was a big deal to Dean. So much so that they spent the rest of lunch talking about movies—what they'd seen, what they liked, what Dean considered a federal offense to not know about. Sam nearly stepped in a few times, worrying that Dean's ribbing would be too upsetting or annoying. But Kat rose to the challenge. She argued with them every step of the way, clearly frustrated but never attempting to back down or storm off. He didn't want to make any assumptions, but she even seemed like she was enjoying herself.

At the very least, she was occupied. That made it easier for him and Dean to keep an eye on her behavior without being overly obvious. Sam waited until she wasn't looking to spike her soda with holy water. When she'd asked Dean to pass the salt for her fries, he'd smiled and poured it directly into her hand. The one time she'd gone to the bathroom, they'd switched her tableware with the silver set they kept in the trunk. They even broke out the EMF reader, just to be safe. But nothing sent up any red flags. One hour later they left the bar, still arguing, but no closer to a solution.

"Well I'm beat," Dean said as they stepped back onto the sidewalk. "I'm gonna hit the hay, find the closest motel and leave you two to...do whatever you gotta do."

"Yeah sure," said Kat, stuffing her hands in her pockets. "There's one a couple blocks east of here, I think. But if you wanted to save a few bucks..."

"Kat, no," Sam said, almost instantly.

His refusal just made her roll her eyes. "You two aren't exactly rolling in dough, Sam."

"Maybe not." Dean pulled his wallet out of his jeans, sliding out his latest credit card. "But Walter Harris is."

"Oh no. I'm not having you two scamming this close to home. You're not taking me down with you."

"You sure?" asked Sam, still hesitant.

"Positive. You two drove all the way across the country. Least I can do is put you up for a night. Mom's still away, so I'll take her room, you can bunk in mine, and Dean can take the couch."

"Woah, hey," Dean interrupted with a frown. "I'm passing out first, why don't I get dibs on the mattress?"

"Because you're a perv, and I don't trust you not to go on a panty raid."

"Why so worried? Am I gonna find something scandalous?"

Kat tossed him her house key, making an obscene gesture with her arm at the same time. Dean caught them with a grin.

"Yeah, sounds about right. Well, I'll catch up with you guys later. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, alright?"

He winked at the two of them, and then climbed into the Impala. The engine rumbled, chuckling at them just like her driver, before the car pulled away from the curb.

Sam wiped a hand down his face.

"Sorry. He doesn't have any real friends, so…"

"It's fine. Besides, you do kind of have a date."

"No, I don't. Seriously, Kat. It's like I said. Harley was sweet, but...dating isn't really in my cards right now. You know, with the Apocalypse."

"I wasn't talking about Harley."

He looked down at her in confusion, but there was no teasing grin. Slowly, reality seeped into his brain, and his heart plummeted.

"Katherine…"

"She's not gonna take no for an answer. And neither am I."

Kat walked away from him, headed back to the parking lot and into the Prius. She didn't bother looking back. The expectation that he would follow her was clear.

Part of Sam still wanted to refuse. He wasn't ready. Maybe he should have been, but that didn't make it any easier. His whole chest was tight with anxiety, guilt, pure terror. But maybe he'd been running long enough.

He wasn't ready, but it was what he was going to do.

They didn't speak to each other in the car. Kat put her music on low, just to take the edge off the silence. Sam managed to smile appreciatively. It gave him something to focus on besides his own nerves. It made the drive seem shorter, and before he had time to talk himself out of it, they were pulling up in front of a large field of green.

Kat lead the way. Just like the park, she knew exactly where she was going without direction and without a path. Clearly this was a trek she made frequently, something she could do even in her sleep. She made her way over the grass, stepping around the stones in neat lines. When she finally stopped, she smiled down at the ground.

"Hey, kid. I know, twice in one week. I'm super lame. But I've got a surprise for you." She glanced behind her, beckoning to Sam. "Come on."

Sam hadn't realized that he'd stopped walking. He was frozen a few yards away, too scared to move any closer. "Kat… I don't think I can do this."

"You can, and you will. Now get over here. Don't make me kick your ass in front of my sister."

The force of her glare pulled him the rest of the way. He stepped around the last few stones, dragging his feet until he was finally standing next to Kat. And then, there she was.

 _Jessica Lee Moore_

 _Beloved Daughter and Sister_

 _January 24, 1984—November 2, 2005_

"See?" Kat asked, as Sam tried desperately to unstick the inside of his throat. "Took me a couple of years, but I found him. Prince Charming, here at last."

"Kat…"

"Hey, it's better late than never. Have a seat."

She smiled at him in earnest, gently squeezing his arm. Then she sat down in the grass, crossing her legs in front of her and leaning back on the headstone behind her. Sam gave her an odd look, which she responded to with a shrug.

"Martha and Eddie don't mind." She leaned over, patting the rock affectionately. "The Brexons died a few years before Jess did. They let me hang out here, and I bring them flowers every Christmas and Easter. So…pop a squat."

Sam sank to the ground. His body was stiff and uncertain, his legs propped awkwardly in front of him with his elbows on his knees. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say or what to think. All he could bring himself to do was stare at the name engraved on the stone, to focus on it instead of the gutting memories that were rushing back. He'd always hoped that her name would remain the same, fresh and dark as the day she'd been buried. But even just three years had taken their toll on the stone. The edges were softer, evidence of all the time that had passed since she'd been gone—all the time that had passed since he'd seen her.

They sat in silence. Kat never pushed him. The wind would rustle the leaves, carry the hum of passing cars, and occasionally mask the sound of sniffling. It was some time before he realized the sniffling was his own.

He bit his lip. Hard enough that he might have drawn blood. But Kat leaned over toward him. She patted him on the arm, her thumb rubbing over the coarse canvas of his jacket. And after that, he cried openly.

He lost track of how long they sat there. By the time he'd gotten his breathing back under his control, his face seemed to be drenched in his own tears. It took several tries to dry his cheeks.

"God, I'm sorry," he choked out, laughing hollowly. "I was supposed to be making sure you were okay."

"Hey, I come here every year," said Kat. "It's your first time. I get it."

"Yeah. I should probably be apologizing for that too."

Kat shrugged. She was still nestled against the older headstone, her arms wrapped around her waist. Her gaze had remained locked on her sister's name, offering him what little privacy he could afford. But now she leaned forward, running her hand over the engraved dates.

"I am okay, you know. I'm still me. No ghost, no demon." She smiled at Sam's sheepish surprise. "Your brother's not exactly the king of subtlety."

Sam barked out a laugh, and finally succeeded in clearing his throat. "Yeah, that's—that's fair."

"Really though," she went on, with a firm nod. "I'm fine. Mostly."

"Kat, it's okay to not be fine. I've been crying on you for like, twenty minutes. I get it. You don't have to pretend."

"I know that. But…sometimes it's nice to, you know?"

She gave Jess's name a final stroke, then sat back against the stone. She stretched her legs out in front of her, and let her gaze wander over the trees on the horizon.

"That day I called you, I…I was a wreck. A lot of this week has been a blur, and I kinda lost track of how many times I made myself sick. But every time I started feeling better, I'd just pick up another bottle. Because blurry was better than reliving her death, and dad's death, and…just everything else I guess. That's what I'm always like this time of year. Mom goes away cause she can't stand seeing me like that, and I end up sitting in the apartment, alone, hating myself, with no real way to deal.

"But after I got off the phone with you… Well it didn't exactly get easier, I guess. I was still pretty shitty. But it gave me a reason to get my shit together, knowing that you were coming. It's bad enough seeing myself like that. I never want anyone else to see me that way. So that meant getting my sorry ass in the shower, and cleaning up the bottles, and opening the windows, even if I was miserable every second. And by the time you two showed up, I guess I really was a little less miserable. It gave me a purpose.

"So yeah. I know I don't have to pretend, but... Hopefully I can fake it until I make it, right?"

She leaned her head back on Martha Brexton's headstone, turning to look at him with the first time. She smiled softly, and it was impossible for him not to smile back.

That was a situation he completely understood. It hadn't been that long ago that he'd been in the same place himself. When Dean died, Sam pushed himself half to Hell looking for him, looking for a way to get him out. When he couldn't find one, he nearly drank himself the rest of the way. If he hadn't turned that grief into something productive, if he hadn't trained himself to turn it into rage, resentment, revenge, then he was certain he wouldn't be sitting in a graveyard now. He'd be buried in one instead.

"God, how did everything get so messed up?" Kat asked, turning back to her sister's grave. "Four years ago my biggest problem was making sure I could afford the rent for the gym. You were worrying about the LSATs. Now we're both hunting on backroads and worrying about demons and ghosts."

"To be fair, I was still worried about demon and ghosts back then. And you're still worried about the gym."

"Fine. _Apocalypse_."

"Yeah, I guess that's a new one."

He laughed, but it died out quickly. His eyes lingered on the engraved words, and before he could stop himself, he reached forward. Rather than the name, he traced over her death date. November 2, 2005. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could still hear Uriel's words echoing.

"It wasn't just her," he admitted. "When Yellow Eyes killed my mom, he…it was the same day. Exactly six months after my birthday. I guess he really wanted to send a message that I couldn't run from this. I can't."

Another breeze swept through the cemetery, and Sam retracted his hand.

"Hey," Kat said softly. "I know I haven't said it yet, but…I'm sorry, Sam."

"You don't have to…"

"Yeah, I do."

He'd expected her to look away, to deliver whatever it was she had to say to the horizon. But when he turned, she was looking at him with her full attention, without a trace of hesitancy in sight.

"You've put up with a lot of bullshit from me over the last few weeks, and I uh…I haven't stopped to tell you that it's okay. That we're okay. You've gone through a lot in the past few years, what with the hunting and your brother dying and the Apocalypse, and it's stupid for me to keep putting my personal loss over all of that. I know you didn't want Jess to die. I know that you miss her, and I know you'd do anything to change it. So I'm sorry that I've been such a bitch to you. You're an emotional little shithead, but…you didn't deserve that."

She nodded firmly, and only then did she look away.

"Well…thanks," said Sam, still taken aback. "That's good to hear."

"You can't change what happened," she said simply. "None of us can. We can't change it, we can't go back, and we can't bring her back."

"Technically we could," he offered, with a wry smile.

"Doesn't matter," said Kat, shaking her head. "She wouldn't be the same. And even if she was, we're not. I wouldn't want to explain to my baby sister about all the things I've killed and bodies I've seen. I wouldn't want her to be a part of this, and if we brought her back, she would be. So there's no point in agonizing over it."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," said Sam, peering over at her curiously. "That's a pretty healthy take on it."

"Okay. So maybe when I was cleaning I paged through some of my mom's therapy books."

"Ah, there it is." He laughed, and Kat shoved him over onto his side. "Sorry! I got it, Dr. Moore."

"Oh, shut up, asshole. Look most of it's bullshit, but I don't know. Some of it's alright. Living in the present, taking responsibility for your faults, truthfulness. Stuff like that."

Sam paused, taking a shaky breath. If there was a time to tell her, it was now. He was in the clear, and they were on a roll. If he worded it right, if he was just forthcoming enough, maybe—just maybe—he could get her to see his side of things.

"You mind if I give it a shot?"

Kat looked over at him in surprise, which was almost immediately tainted by suspicion.

"Alright," she said slowly. "Sure. Shoot."

He nodded, tugging his knees a bit tighter and clasping his hands in front of him. No going back now.

"That day in the park, the first time I came to visit you… I said I was gonna tell you everything, the whole story. But I didn't. At least, not about me."

"I kinda figured," Kat said with a snort. "Is this about your superpowers, then? Your premonitions?"

"Yeah. Except they're not just premonitions. It can make me stronger, give me heightened senses, stop demons from using certain attacks on me. When we killed Azazel, none of that went away. It's just a part of me now, and…I guess I've learned to accept that. And once I accepted that part of myself, I learned to control it."

"Sam…"

"No, look, I—I know how that sounds," he said quickly, shifting to face her. "But Kat, I know what I'm doing. I've talked to people, I've looked for help—I know the risks! If I can control it, then—then I can help people. If I focus, I can control the demons, alright? I can stop them, and I can exorcise them without even using an exorcism! It's faster, it puts less stress host, and that means that more people survive! God, I just…I've saved so many people in the last couple months. And it feels good."

"Sam," Kat said incredulously. "These are powers that a _demon_ gave you. That a _powerful demon_ gave you by making you _drink his blood._ "

"I know that. And I've had my doubts. Trust me. But I'm still me, you know? And if I have the power to help people, then shouldn't I do that?"

Kat didn't answer him immediately. Her face was impassive as always, but he took the pause as encouragement. She was torn. At the very least, she hadn't immediately jumped in to condemn him.

She chewed on her bottom lip, turning to look back at him. "What does Dean think about all of this?"

That was not the response he'd been hoping for.

"Dean went mental," Sam groaned. "He thinks it's too risky to use it, and that it's wrong just because it's not natural. It's not the _right_ way to do things, even if it's more efficient and it saves more lives."

Kat pulled a face, clearly in agreement, and Sam frowned.

"Great. You, Dean, _and_ the angels."

"Is that not enough for you?"

"It is! Or—Or—I don't know. It was." Sam rutted his hands through his hair in frustration, glaring at the air in front of him. "After that case with Jack Montgomery, I promised myself I wasn't going to use them anymore. Dean hated me, the angels told him he had to stop me, but…mostly I just stopped for me. Because I didn't want to risk giving in to a part of me that was so dark that…that it turned me into some kind of monster."

"You're not a monster, Sam," Kat sighed. "But still. If the angels…"

"After this last case, I don't give a crap what the angels think. Obviously they don't have the most stand up moral code. And yeah. Maybe they're trying to stop me for a good reason, or maybe they don't want me using these powers because they can't see the little things. They're so wrapped up in all their big picture crap, they don't care about the normal people that get left behind, and killed in the crossfire. And those are the people I'm saving. If I hadn't stopped Samhain, then…"

"If you hadn't stopped him?" Kat asked, cutting him off. "You were able to use your powers to exorcise _Samhain_?"

She stared at him, and Sam quickly looked away. There was a clear note of horror in her eyes now. He didn't like seeing it directed at him. It was the exact reason he'd sworn off his powers in the first place.

"Kat," he sighed, his voice pleading. "I tried, okay? I tried putting it all behind me, and pretending that it never happened, that it didn't matter, and that—it didn't work. It didn't make it go away, and it didn't change what Azazel did to me. I'm always gonna have this _thing_ inside of me, and maybe it's dark and it's wrong, but…if I don't use it to help people… I'm just trying to make something good come out of this."

"I get that." Kat pushed off the headstone, twisting in the grass so that she could face him fully, her legs pretzeled in front of her. "Trust me, if there's anything I can understand, it's trying to make the best out of something terrible that's happened to you, trying to figure out how you can use it to help other people. You know that."

Sam blanched. "Kat, I didn't—that's definitely not what I…"

"It's fine." She held up a hand, waving him off. "But Sam, there's a difference between what happened to you and what happened to Jack. Jack was born with something that he couldn't control. It was genetics. What happened to you… I mean, a demon _gave you_ these powers. He wanted you to have them. And maybe it was just to lead his demon army or whatever, but…you can't take his word for that. From what you told me, it doesn't sound like you know a lot about Azazel, what he was doing or what these powers do to you. And until you do, I think it'd be smart for you to stay away from them."

"Kat, if I hadn't used my powers to stop Samhain, then…"

"Then thousands of people would have died, I know. Thank you for saving them. But you can't keep justifying using your powers just because you have them. Just because you have a pre-existing condition doesn't mean you don't medicate it."

"Wow," Sam scoffed, shaking his head. "You sound exactly like Dean."

"Trust me, that's the last thing I want," Kat snorted. "Look, I know you two have lived…a really, really different life from mine. Practically in a different world. But, if I know one thing, it's that I could never trust a demon. Not after what happened to Jessica."

Sam's blood ran cold. It took him a moment to realize that Kat was talking about taking Azazel for his word, not trusting Ruby to teach him about his powers. Kat knew nothing about Ruby. And given the tenor of their conversation, it was going to stay that way. He'd hated the fear in her eyes when she'd found out he'd exorcised a high-level demon all on his own. He couldn't imagine Kat's face if she found out that a demon was the one teaching him how to strengthen his powers. If she found out the lengths he'd gone to in order to be stronger…

Maybe he'd already told enough truth for the day.

"God, look at us," Kat laughed dryly. "We came to talk to Jess and instead we're just…debating about demons and superpowers."

"I don't think it's that weird," said Sam. "I mean…given the circumstances."

He turned his eyes away from the grave. Maybe Uriel had a point. How could Sam sit here, in front of Jess's grave of all places, and defend his actions? He was using the powers given to him by her killer. He'd been working with a demon. He'd grown to care about a demon. And sitting in front of Jess's grave, he'd never felt worse.

Kat smiled sadly. She patted her sister's headstone and then, in a very un-Kat-like move, reached for Sam's hand. She squeezed it gently—offering him reassurance he didn't deserve, and asking for comfort that he couldn't give.

"Just…tell me it's all gonna work out, Sam."

Sam swallowed the lump of guilt in his throat, and ran his thumb over the back of her hand.

"It's gonna be fine, Kat," he lied. "I promise."

* * *

 **A/N:** Happy New Year, everyone! Another poetic posting. May your new year start with the same honesty and new leaves that Kat turns in this chapter. Thank you again!


	17. Chapter 17

**TRIGGER WARNING: The beginning of this chapter contains vivid descriptions of gore and body horror. The end of this chapter contains references to sexual assault. Please proceed with caution.**

* * *

It was cold.

He couldn't ever remember being so cold.

He couldn't see his breath, but it'd been so long that he couldn't remember why. It might be that the cold was in his head. It might be that he really had no breath at all.

He looked down at the blade in his hand. At least, he knew in theory that it was his hand. It responded to his thoughts, moving in the way he normally would. But he could no longer feel anything—not the blade in his palm, or the blood on his fingers. He'd been hunting all his life and still, he could not remember ever being covered in so much blood.

It was quiet, at least to him. Silence had long become a thing of the past, a memory so distant it hardly seemed real. All there was now was screaming. It used to be deafening, so loud that he could not bring his body to function. He'd grown cold to it now. He'd grown cold to everything.

It was so cold.

He blinked, and another body was in front of him. It was a woman, her dark hair plastered to her skin in a cold sweat. Her body writhed, her head whipped back and forth, and her mouth was open in a silent scream. Did she have no voice? Or had he simply tuned it out? He had no way to tell.

He stepped forward on instinct, waiting. He had all of the time in the world. It could have been seconds, it could have been years, but the woman finally stopped. The chains holding her aloft rattled faintly. She whimpered, shirking against the pull of the meat hooks in her skin. But he would wait until she was perfectly still, until the stillness passed into trembling, until the trembling passed into writhing once more. Anticipation was an equally terrible weapon.

"Come on now, Dean," a familiar voice said in the back of his mind. "Just because her soul's damned for all eternity doesn't mean we've got all day. Let's get to the fun part. The really fun part."

Foreign lips pulled into a smile on his face, and the hands he no longer felt pressed the blade through the woman's stomach. The chains rattled violently, but the screams were still lost on him. She could have been singing, and the only difference he would have noticed were her eyes. There he could see the pain, the fear, the anguish. That was his report card. That's how he knew that his was doing his job.

He sliced her skin, layer by layer, piece by piece, until none of it was left. All that was there was a length of muscle, bound together by twitching tendons and dripping blood into the sky below. It was the remnants of a person, barely the same shape, but still twitching and writhing with screams. Always screaming.

It was still cold.

Once her skin was gone, it was easier to work. The muscle was tough, harder to cut away, especially when the carcass was slick with blood. But eventually it gave way, stringy and tacky as he ripped it away from its proper place.

Beneath the muscle were the organs, each a bouquet of opportunity, a bundle of nerve endings humans didn't know they could use to feel. His favorite were the intestines, long and slimy and easy to manipulate. Even normal humans could survive for hours with their intestines being pulled from their body. He remembered a story, where Vikings would nail one end of the innards to a tree, and make their victims walk in circles round it until they finally bled out. There were no trees here. But he always made do.

But something was wrong. The body was standing, the skin he'd removed reappearing in patches. And the chains—the chains that held them down, held them back—they were still rattling, but nowhere in sight.

"Please!"

He'd preferred it when he was deaf. No screams, no words, not even the smallest whimper. Anything was better than this groveling, heart-wrenching pleading.

"Please! Stop! Someone help me!"

"Stop!" His own voice was emanating from somewhere inside his chest, though he wasn't consciously choosing the words. "Shut up! Just stop!"

"Why?" the woman sobbed, clutching her gaping stomach. "Why are you doing this?"

"Listen, you sold your soul, lady. This is the price."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Like _you_ , Dean?"

The pleading was gone. What was left of the woman stood up straight, hard eyes glaring at him with a fire even colder than the one beneath his feet.

"Like you sold your soul for your brother? Like Daddy sold his soul for you?"

"S-Stop. I told you to shut up."

"You're _just like me_ , Dean! So why are you doing this? Why are you doing this to me? To all of us?"

She wasn't alone. He looked back and forth and saw hundreds of bodies, thousands. Different genders, different ages, different states of inhumane torture visible on their bodies. Burned skin, sliced skin, broken bones, angry boils, dragging chains, limping on stumps, dragging themselves across the floor with split fingers that no longer had nails.

"I—I'm sorry," he whimpered, stumbling back. "I didn't—I didn't want to."

"Why are you doing this, Dean? Why are you really doing this?"

"I just—You don't understand! They made me do this!"

"No, Dean. No one _made_ you do this. You did this because you _wanted_ to. You did this because you _liked_ it."

They were advancing now, all of them, the broken bodies that he had broken. The pain had burned from their faces by fury. The woman led the charge, wisps of remaining black hair sticking in the grain of her muscles, her own intestines in her hand swinging like a length of chain.

"Say it," she demanded. "I want to hear you say it!"

The screaming was harder to block out. It was getting louder, and it was still so, so cold…

"I'm sorry! I did it!" He was sobbing, no difference between the tears and blood on his face. "I did it, and I liked it, I—it's my fault. It's my fault. I'm sorry. It's all my fault."

The woman cackled, and with a flick of her wrist, her innards shot at Dean. They wrapped around his wrist like a rope, holding him tight, dragging him forward, making him writhe just as she had when she'd been hung on the rack.

"No, please! It's my fault! I'm sorry! I liked it! I—I didn't mean to!"

"Oh, Dean," she sighed, shaking her head. "Dean, Dean, Dean."

"I'm sorry! It's my fault!"

"Dean. Dean. Dean."

"Please!"

"Dean, wake up!"

His eyes snapped open. It was still cold, but not as cold as it had been in Hell. His skin was soaked in sweat, not blood. And the tight feeling on his wrist was not a band of severed intestines, but a hand.

Dean swung on instinct, but his fist met empty air. His arm was thrown to the side and then pinned against his other, held tight by two hands under a mane of blonde hair. It took him a few more seconds to come to reality.

"Kat," he sighed gruffly. "Sorry, uh…I didn't mean to…"

"You good?"

He nodded, and after a few more seconds, she released his arms. He stretched them out, pushing himself up into a sitting position on the couch. He was in her apartment. He was in California, topside. He was not in Hell.

Kat disappeared into the kitchen, and returned with her hands full. She tossed him a towel, and set a few things down on the table—a water bottle, an empty glass, and an open bottle of bourbon.

"Surprised you've got any left," he cracked, swiping the towel over his forehead.

"Ha. You're funny."

She collapsed into an armchair by the window, clutching her own water bottle. Dean raised the bourbon with a questioning glance, but she waved him off.

"Nah, I'm good. I think if I have any more alcohol this month my liver might secede in protest."

"Suit yourself." He poured himself a glass, and downed the whole thing in one go. Pouring another, he glanced over at Kat. "What's got you up?"

"Same as you," she said with a shrug. "Nightmares are pretty much par for the course. Especially this time of year."

"Family?"

"Yup. Jess, Dad, Marcus. Everything going up in flames. Same old, same old."

"Yeah, I hear ya."

"What about you?"

"Nothing special." Dean smirked bitterly, tossing back another gulp of the liquor. "You know that teddy bear from all those laundry commercials? I hate that little fucker."

He grinned at his own joke. But Kat did not. She considered him from her armchair, backlit by the moon in her hair. It made her face seem darker and ever harder to decipher. Dean could suddenly appreciate all of Sam's bitching about how difficult she was to read.

She broke the silence by cracking open her water bottle, taking a casual sip as if she hadn't been staring at him for twenty seconds. Dean turned back to the bottle, and was just pouring himself another drink when she spoke again.

"You should tell them, you know. That you remember."

Dean froze, cold once more. Clearly, he'd said more in his sleep than he'd thought. But he did his best to keep his face passive, a smile easily smoothing over the damage.

"Sweetheart, I got no clue what you're talking about."

"Hey, you don't have to tell me," she said, holding up her hands. "Not my problem. But Sam and Bobby, they deserve to know."

"Excuse me?" He put the down the glass, and fixed her with a hard glare. "Listen, you don't know squat about my life, Tinkerbell, so don't you sit there and tell me who does and doesn't deserve to know what's going on in my head. I'll make that decision myself, thanks."

"You're right," said Kat, not looking very bothered by his outburst. "It's your life. Just figured you should think about lying a little less when you've got so much going on. This thing you've got with Sam doesn't seem very healthy."

Dean actually snorted. "Right. And you're just the shining example of dealing with your trauma."

"I'm working on it," she said with a shrug. "We're all works in progress."

She took a sip from her water bottle and turned back to the window. Dean glared at her moodily. He wasn't in the mood for company, but there wasn't exactly anything he could do. It was her house, after all. He could storm out to the Impala, but even he had to admit that the couch was comfier than the back seat. Plus, he wasn't wearing pants, and all the liquor was inside. He'd just have to put up with her until she went back to bed.

But it seemed like he wouldn't get off that easy.

"Can I ask you a question?" she asked a few minutes later. She held up her hands again at his dirty look. "Not a personal one. Promise."

"What?"

"Just…what are the angels like?"

"We told you," he said shortly. "They're dicks."

"Yeah, I got that part. I just mean—I don't know. How many were there? What do they look like? What do they sound like?"

"Like dicks, mostly." He took a satisfied gulp of bourbon, but relented at her unamused expression. "Look, I don't know, okay? We've only met two of them."

"And?"

Dean sighed. Clearly, she was not giving up on this.

"Well, there was Uriel," he started, leaning back against the couch. "He was a real righteous pain in the ass. Burly black dude, always going on about how insignificant and stupid humans are. Real charmer."

"So he just looked like a guy?" Kat asked.

"To us, yeah. I don't know what he really looks like. Angels are kinda like demons, you know? The need a host or a vessel or something if they want to move around like humans do. No vessel, then…"

He imitated an explosion, miming his eyes being blown out of his sockets. Kat raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, you were at the hotel with us. You saw all the broken glass at the wirey radio."

"That was the other one, right?" she asked, nodding. "Castiel?"

"Yeah, that was Cas. He's…well, I guess he's not so bad."

Dean toyed with his glass, thinking back on their last case. Yes, the angels had proven that the host of heaven was plentiful with assholes who didn't give two shits about the rest of God's creations. If Uriel's attitude was anything to go by, the angels appreciated humans about as much as Dean appreciated ants. Maybe they were funny to watch from time to time, but wiping a couple out wasn't any big deal.

That's what that town had been to them—an ant colony. Just an ant colony laying in the spot they wanted to put a road. And they were willing to kill thousands of people without blinking just so that road could get them where they wanted to go.

But Castiel had hoped differently. After their conversation in the park, Dean had to admit he was reassessing his thoughts on the angels. Castiel seemed more like what he'd thought angels would be. Not that he'd ever believed in angels. Sure, Cas wore a cheap suit instead of wings and a halo, but at least he wasn't totally indifferent. Compared to Uriel, he seemed merciful, understanding, ready to believe in good rather than orders.

"I'm not a hammer," he'd said as they sat on the park benches. "I have questions. I have doubts. I don't know what is right and what is wrong anymore."

Now that— _that_ was a power that Dean was willing to get behind. That was a kind of good that he could recognize, the kind that struggled and fought and reassessed itself every moment of the day. Not this all-powerful, all-knowing supreme bullcrap that Uriel had been trying to sell them. So long as he could think of the angels like Castiel, he didn't have a problem. But he had a feeling that angels like Castiel were more of a dying breed.

"He's the one that saved you from Hell, right?" Kat asked softly.

Dean nodded, absently reaching for the handprint that was still fading from his shoulder.

"Yeah, that's the one. He's okay. Not as much of a righteous douchebag as Uriel, anyway. He's a weird little dude in an oversized trench coat, but it seems like he gets it. Well, so long as _it_ isn't pop culture references or personal boundaries."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kat asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Nothing, just uh…privacy's not much of an angelic concept. He can just pop up or pop out whenever he wants, no doors, no announcing. He's walked in on my dreams, hopped on my bed when I'm sleeping. Dude can be anywhere."

Kat suddenly became very still, sitting up slightly in her chair. Her eyes darted around the room, and her grip tightened around her water bottle.

"Is…Is he here right now? Watching us?"

"What? No—No, he's—he's not invisible," Dean chuckled, shaking his head. "He's an angel, not part of the Fantastic Four."

"Well I don't know that," she said defensively, pulling her legs up into the chair with her. "I don't really know anything about angels. Mom and Dad were never super religious, so except for a couple holiday services, I never really went to church. And after Jess…"

She bit her lip, swallowing the sentence with another gulp of water.

"I don't know. I guess I just figure with all the terrible shit that goes on in this world, it's hard for me to believe there's a positive force that's always looking out for people."

"I'll drink to that," Dean agreed, tipping back his glass. He winced at the burn, enjoying every moment. "I was right there with you. If I didn't have Cas half up my ass all the time, I wouldn't believe it either. Hell, I still think it might turn out to be a demon hoax. But enough of it lines up for now, and we can't find anything else that would have been able to raise me from the pit, so… You stick around long enough, you'll probably learn fast."

"Yeah, well…the more you two talk about it, the more I'm worried I shouldn't."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

She looked at him, incredulous.

"You two know you have a reputation, right? I mean, every hunter I've ever met knows you guys are good, but… Marcus, he warned me that hunting with the Winchesters was the best way to find the biggest cases and the shortest life. And after that hunt in Pennsylvania, listening to all your Apocalypse talk, demons, angels…I'm not sure he was wrong."

Well, that stung like a bitch.

Sure, he and Sam knew they were jinxed, and that was putting it lightly. You could only lose so many people before you started to realize that. And maybe their lives were pretty fucked up. But knowing it and hearing it were two very different things. Dean wasn't sure what to do with the knowledge that everyone in the hunting world thought he was cursed goods.

He swallowed the wounded fragments of his pride, and put on a bitter smile.

"Sounds like Marcus was a pretty smart guy," he offered. He poured himself another drink, more generous this time. "If he was so keen on you staying away, you should probably stop inviting us to stay the night."

"It's not that simple," she sighed, resting her chin on her knees. "Sam was part of my life before hunting was. Marcus warned me not to go after him, so I didn't, but…I ended up bumping into you two anyway."

"I wouldn't call that a _bump_ exactly."

Kat smirked, rolling her eyes.

"The point is, I wasn't actively looking for you. And once I found Sam, I…I don't know. I was pissed to all hell, but it was still like getting a piece of Jess back. A piece of that life I had before the rest of it went to shit. I think she'd probably haunt my ass if she knew I'd railed on him and then just left him to suffer. I don't want him to face all this alone. But Jess aside, I guess…cutting him out of my life turned out to be a lot easier said than done."

"Yeah, well," Dean said, tilting his head, "Sammy can get pretty clingy."

"Still," she went on. "Heaven, the Apocalypse, Lucifer…seriously?"

"Welcome to the major leagues."

"Dean," she laughed, "for the past three years, I've spent every other weekend hunting down ghouls or a pesky poltergeist. This is like being drafted for the Yankees after stepping off the little league field."

He couldn't help the grin that coaxed out of him. "Would you believe me if I told you I feel the same way?"

"Uh, no. Not really."

"I do," he said, shrugging casually. "Look, despite all the shit we give you, three or four years ago I was in the same place."

"Dean, you two have been training as hunters your whole lives. Since you were, what, four?"

"Okay, yeah, so I've got two decades of experience on you. But a couple years ago, demons were still headline news to me. I didn't know what a shapeshifter was, or a rougarou. I didn't think angels were real, or heaven, or Lucifer. So that part I get. I don't know if there's a way to feel ready for that, you know?

"But it's like you said. This is big shit we're talking about. This is the Apocalypse. Not exactly something you can wait out hiding in your apartment. All I know is that the world is gonna end, or it isn't. Now God and Hell and angels aside, I know I can either go down swinging, or stick to what I know. And if it's a choice between saving the world, or sticking my head in the sand, I know what I'm gonna do."

"Right," Kat said tersely. "Well when you put it like that it sounds easy."

"No, I'm not saying it's easy. And I'm not here to tell you what you've gotta do. It's your life. But as fucked up and cursed and experienced as Sam and I may be, we could still use all the help we can get."

Kat shirked away from him, pulling herself tighter into her chair. Dean blinked. At some point during their conversation, he'd migrated to the edge of the couch, leaning forward in his seat at he pleaded their case to her. He was much closer to her than he'd remembered.

"Hey, I get it," he said, trying to make it seem effortless. He leaned back, putting some more distance between them. "You do what you feel is right. If you want to ride it out with your mom, that's cool by me. You didn't ask for this. But don't cut Sam out, alright? He's a whiny little bastard sometimes, but he's a lot less annoying when he's texting you. He's just as messed up about Jessica as you are. He's not gonna let anything happen to you."

To his surprise, Kat snorted. She capped off her water bottle and stood up, stretching her body after being knotted up in the armchair.

"Don't go making promises you can't keep, Dean. You should really cut lying out of your diet."

She smirked at him, and patted the back of the couch as she brushed past him. He watched her go, heading down the hallway, until his vocal chords acted of their own volition.

"Hey, Kat?"

She stopped in the hallway, turning back to him with a curious eye. He floundered for a moment, unsure what it was that he wanted to say. So he settled on his normal default.

"Cute pajama shorts."

Kat glanced down at herself, tugging on the silk short shorts Dean had been eyeing since he woke up. She rolled her eyes, flipped him off, but was still smirking when she vanished into her bedroom.

Dean rubbed a hand down his face with a soft groan. It was a relief to be alone. At the same time, it was a pity he didn't have a distraction. Now it was just him, his thoughts, and his memories of Hell to keep himself company for the rest of the night.

Resigned, he pulled the bottle of bourbon a little closer over the table. He'd leave some money on the counter so Kat could get another bottle.

After several hours of drinking, and beating down several impulses to lull himself to sleep with porn in someone else's living room, Dean finally managed to slip into unconsciousness. There were still flashes, moments during the night where his heart rate spiked and he groaned in his sleep, but nothing as vivid as his earlier nightmare. And when he finally did wake up, it was to Sam poking him in the morning.

"Dude, come on," he said in his whiny voice, kneeing Dean in the side. "Get up."

"Hey, you had the mattress," Dean mumbled into a throw pillow. "So you can shut the hell up."

"At least put some pants on before Kat gets back."

"Why? Nothing she hasn't seen before."

Sam smacked him on the shoulder, hard enough that Dean yelped and sat up. Sam was glaring at him soundly, and Dean found himself stammering.

"Not me, obviously. That's not what I meant. I just…yeah, I—I'll go put on pants. Jeez. Stop being such a bitch."

He snatched his bag from the floor and made a beeline down the hall. He'd have to make a mental note to stay on the right side of Sammy's protective streak.

Dean took a quick shower and changed into some fresh clothes. It was always nice to be able to take his time in the bathroom, without running off to the next case or fleeing from the cops. It was even nicer knowing fifty strangers hadn't used the same toilet in the last month. It wasn't often they got the chance to use a real, in-home bathroom. So he took it slow, and enjoyed every second.

By the time he got back to the living room, Sam had settled into Kat's place in the armchair, munching on a bowl of cereal. Dean considered ribbing him for making himself at home, but decided against it. Sam already seemed pretty touchy this morning, and he didn't want to press his luck. Things must have gone well with Kat though, seeing as Sam had switched into housewife mode. The kitchen was clean, coffee made, the empty bottles vanished from the recycling bin, and when Dean peeked inside of the fridge, it had a decent amount of food in it.

He would have asked Sam for the specifics, but the moment he got back to the living room with his coffee, the front door swung open. Kat stepped in, her skin shining with light sweat, a bright blue sports bra and another pair of short shorts, albeit spandex rather than silk in the daytime. She tossed Sam a newspaper, which he caught wordlessly, and she nodded to Dean as she passed him.

He bit down on the comment forming in his mouth. Sam was already giving him a warning look.

They settled into their own worlds—Sam scanning the newspaper for potential cases while Dean propped open his laptop to do the same. He quickly got distracted by an article about the upcoming Star Trek reboot, and was about three forums in by the time Kat returned from the bathroom. He changed the tab.

"Morning," Sam greeted, smiling as she rejoined them. "How'd you sleep?"

"Great," she lied easily. "Mom's bed always seems more comfortable than mine. Thank you, by the way, for using up all the hot water."

Dean clicked his tongue, pointing to her with a wink. "You got it. Great water pressure though."

She scoffed, tying her hair up into a knot on her head. Her weight shifted on her feet, and she looked quickly back and forth between the two of them.

"You two all set to go? I can help you with your bags if you want."

"Oh, uh…" Sam looked up from the paper in surprise. "Yeah, I guess we're okay. Do you want to grab breakfast or something? Maybe we could…"

"Yeah, no, I mean—that'd be great, but I gotta head to work, and Mom just texted me that she's on her way home, so uh…"

"Gotcha." Sam nodded, folding up the paper immediately. "Yeah, we can clear out."

"What?" Dean laughed, and twisted to look at Kat standing behind the couch. "You not allowed to have boys over after midnight?"

"Uh, kinda the opposite," she admitted. "I just don't want to deal with all the probing questions the moment she gets back. Plus, she's kind of in love with Sam, so I figure I'm doing you guys a favor."

"Huh. Cougar. Is your mom hot?"

Sam answered that for him by forcing Dean's laptop shut and throwing his duffel bag against his gut.

It didn't take them long to pack up, and Kat walked them down the stairs and back to the Impala. Dean dragged his feet a bit as they walked, toying with the strap of his bag and messing with his phone. He was sure Sam was gonna make a big deal out of his goodbye with Kat, and Dean didn't plan on getting caught in the crosshairs of his brother's sentimentality.

As luck would have it, the phone went off in his hands, Bobby's number flashing across the screen. He raised the phone to Sam and Kat and stepped away from the car, leaving them to say their goodbyes.

"Man your timing's good," he laughed, pacing back over to the sidewalk.

 _"Tell that to the phone company,"_ Bobby grumbled _. "Where you boys at?"_

"Round Stanford. Sam wanted to come visit Kat for the big anniversary."

 _"Meaning the anniversary of her sister's death?"_

"Bingo. They're just saying goodbye now, so I get to duck out on the waterworks."

 _"How you boys holding up?"_ asked Bobby. _"You still got all your man parts?"_

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

 _"Just bein' realistic. Girl was fast. And pissed."_

Dean cast a glance back towards the car. Sam had pulled Kat into a hug, something she had to stand on her toes to do properly.

"Eh, she's not that bad. Least when she's not in sudden death mode."

 _"What happened to that theory of yours? That she was in on the plan to spring you from Hell?"_

"That was before we knew about the angels, and I'm gonna take a stab in the dark and say that she's definitely not working with them. Plus, she and Sam seem to be cool now, so I guess that threat's been terminated. So, theory nixed."

 _"Well that's a relief,"_ Bobby sighed. _"Cause we sure as hell don't need another problem to be worrying about."_

"Yeah, that's for sure. What about you? What's up on your end?"

 _"You watch the news at all this week? About that big court case going down in Indiana?"_

"Uh, no? Sorry, Bobby, we've been a little swamped what with the patron demon of Halloween and all."

 _"Shut up, ya idjit. I'm being serious. It's been a big deal for months. Some fed prison guard went psycho and murdered twenty inmates on the night watch. Been in the paper for ages."_

"Alright, alright," said Dean, nodding to himself. "Yeah, that kinda rings a bell. Why? What happened to him?"

 _"Nothing. Bastard walked scot-free."_

"For killing twenty people? Seriously?"

 _"Yup. Whole jury ruled in his favor. Media's going nuts. And then this morning, I found this."_ There was a rustling on the other end of the line, and Bobby cleared his throat. _"'He who walks free from the score of his sins shall hold righteous place when Lucifer wins.'"_

Dean groaned.

"Okay, I cannot believe I'm saying this, but Bobby please tell me you're taking up a poetry hobby."

 _"Cute,"_ Bobby snorted. _"It's another damn seal. Not sure how they did it. Must've planned in advance, possessed the whole damn courtroom. Prison guard too."_

"Well that's great. That's stellar, Bobby. But what the hell are we supposed to do about it now, huh? I can't do shit if we keep finding out about all this stuff _after_ it happens!"

 _"Oh, well excuse me, Your Highness! Sorry if my schedule's a little inconvenient for you! I'm doing my best, boy. We don't know what seals they're goin' for, we don't know what order, what country, and we've only got one person on translate duty! I'm goin' as fast as I can."_

"Yeah, I know. Sorry." Dean sighed, mopping a hand down his face. "It just bugs me, you know? Why does it feel like we're doing all the footwork here? The angels have to know what all the seals are. Why can't they just give us a damn shopping list so we know what to look for?"

 _"Don't think it's that easy. From what I've already read, there's hundreds of seals on the big guy's cage. But Lilith only needs to break sixty-six before that bond is weak enough to break. They don't know what she's going for anymore that we do. Doubt they've got the man power to watch everything at the same time."_

"Well that's just…shit."

 _"Wow, Dean. Maybe you should be the poet."_

"Shut up, Bobby." Dean rolled his eyes, and started back for the car. "Listen, thanks for the heads up. I know you're swamped, but uh…we really appreciate it."

 _"Yeah, whatever. Not like I got a choice. It's the end of the damn world."_

"Fair enough. I'll talk to you later, Bobby."

He ended the call, pocketing it as he rejoined the other two at the Impala. They'd stopped hugging, thankfully, and looked like they were just waiting on him.

"Everything alright?" asked Sam.

"Yeah, just Bobby calling with good news as always."

"New case?"

"Nope. Broken seal—Indiana, some dude killed a bunch of inmates and walked. Unanimous jury."

"Wait, it's already broken?" Sam repeated incredulously. "For sure?"

"Pretty much. I gave Bobby some shit on the phone, but uh, he's doin' the best he can. You know, we've only got one guy on translate, research, and reporting, and he's got a lot of material to go through."

"Yeah, I guess that's fair," he sighed, shaking his head. "Just wish there was a way we could get in front of it."

He patted the hood of the car, walking around to the passenger side as Dean tossed his bag in the trunk. Kat stalled by the driver's side, drumming her fingers on the roof of the car. Dean closed the boot, and was just about to make a quick goodbye when she spoke in a rush.

"You know if you guys need help, Bobby can always send some stuff over to me."

Both boys stopped short, staring at her blankly before they glanced at each other.

"You sure?" asked Dean, and Kat nodded.

"It's like you said. Bobby's got a lot on his plate, more than one person should be taking on, and it's not really something that can wait. I'm not big on languages, but if he wants to translate some stuff and send it my way so I can research potential cases, that's not too bad. Research is mostly paperwork, so I can do it from home or at the gym anyway."

"I don't know, Kat." Sam had rushed back around the car, his hand now hovering protectively over her shoulder. "I mean, this stuff is pretty crazy. I know you said you didn't want to get involved in it, and we wouldn't blame you. It's not your battle to fight."

"Sam, it's the Apocalypse," she said bluntly. "Kind of affects everyone. Besides, not exactly the kind of thing I can ride out from my apartment, right?"

Kat caught Dean's eye, just for a moment, and his lips pulled up into a smile.

"No, it is not." He spun his keys around his finger, and walked over to take his place next to his brother. "What do you think, Sammy? Found the newest member of Team Apocalypse Now?"

"Only if you're sure," he told her, still skeptic. "I don't want you to feel like you have to do this."

"I'm sure," she said, pulling him into another hug. "If it means I get to keep breathing and eating chicken wings, I can handle a little research. Besides, I need the practice."

"Alright. Um, great. Awesome. Thank you, Kat. Really."

"Sam, shut up."

"Right. Gotcha."

"We'll give Bobby a head's up you're calling," said Dean, opening his car door. "Just so he doesn't speed over here looking to cuff you again."

"Appreciate that."

"Keep your head up, Blondie. And uh, if you're doing any more laundry, make sure you send pictures."

He dodged her swing, ducking into the Impala just in time. He beamed at her through the window, and mirrored her when she flipped him off in a way he was getting used to. Dean was almost touched. It was like their signature goodbye.

Kat followed Sam around the car, patting him on the back as he slid into the passenger seat. She waved, Dean honked the horn, and they finally pulled out from the parking lot.

Sam wasted no time in pulling out his newspaper again, a pen between his teeth as he scanned the headline for cases. Until they found one, their current destination was breakfast, in any town that had a diner. But half of Dean's brain still felt like it was at the apartment complex. They drove in silence for a few minutes, Dean impulsively checking the rearview mirror even after the building was out of sight. Eventually, he cleared his throat.

"So, uh…Kat," he tested, giving Sam a sideways glance. "She always been that no-nonsense about guys?"

"Yeah, I guess," Sam said absently, not looking up from his paper. "Why?"

"I don't know. I just thought it was kind of weird, what she said about her mom—the probing questions thing. I mean, most mothers aren't praying for their daughters to bring men home overnight, especially when they know what those men do for a living."

"Grace is great. You know, she worries about Kat, but as far as hunting's concerned, she really gets it. She understands that it's dangerous, but it helps people too—people that wouldn't really get help otherwise. I think she's mostly worried that Kat's lonely because she keeps herself so isolated."

"And you said she's always been like that? Even before she was a hunter?"

"Yeah, far as I can remember. She's always played things pretty close to the chest. But I don't think she ever dated anyone when I knew her."

Dean nodded to himself, not pressing for the moment. It wasn't exactly the answer he'd been going for. He wasn't looking to investigate her dating history, but Sam's answer gave him enough of an idea to the one he wanted.

Before he could think of anything to add, Sam's head snapped up from the paper.

"Dude, no!"

"What? I was just asking…"

"Yeah, I know what you were asking. Don't even joke about it."

"Jeez, alright!" Dean chuckled, raising a hand in surrender. "No need to get so worked up about it."

But Sam was still glaring at him in shock.

"Dean, it's not funny."

"What? You getting territorial over your ex-girlfriend's sister? Actually, I think that's hilarious."

"You're not sleeping with Katherine!"

"Hey, you said it, man. Not me."

"I don't need you to say it. I know you, Dean." Sam groaned, dusting off one of his classic bitch faces as he put the paper aside. "Look, Kat's got her own reasons for being guarded. So leave it."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean asked. Sam's look only intensified. "Fine. I'll just ask her myself next time we see her."

"No! Dean, just…" He sighed, debating for a moment. "I told you. Kat's been training with defense trainers for like a decade."

"What does that have anything to do with—…?"

"She didn't open the gym until 2004, and she didn't become a hunter until after Jess. So why do you think she suddenly threw herself into learning how to fight?"

Dean's stomach sank like a rock. He could feel his hands on the steering wheel, but his chest felt struck with the same cold he felt in his nightmares.

"…Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh,'" Sam scoffed, shaking his head. "Like I said, it's her own reason. So do everyone a favor and drop it."

"No, you got it. Just… It's dropped."

They drove in silence until they reached the diner. Sam spent the whole time hiding behind his newspaper, but he obviously wasn't reading. Dean couldn't hear any of the obnoxious mumbling or humming sounds Sam normally made when he was researching. And Dean was so surprisingly rattled, he completely forgot to turn on the stereo to tune out the silence. Instead, his hands stayed tight on the steering wheel, readjusting their grip at even intervals.

If he'd said it once, he'd said it a thousand times. Monsters he understood. But humans he couldn't stand.


	18. Chapter 18

_"You've reached the voice mailbox of—Katherine Moore. At the tone, please record your message. When you've finished recording, you may hang up or press…"_

Sam ended the call, resisting the urge to toss his phone out the window. He repressed the feeling with a deep breath, and then dialed the number again.

"Dude, give it up," said Dean, glancing over from the driver's seat. "You're only gonna make it worse."

"I'm not making it worse," Sam defended, "because nothing's wrong."

"Oh really? Then why do you keep calling her like you're waiting for the divorce papers?"

Sam chose not to respond.

He hadn't done anything wrong. At least, he was almost positive that he hadn't done anything wrong. Replaying his last few conversations with Kat, he couldn't think of anything he'd said that might have upset her, any signs that she might have been angry with him. Well, no angrier than she normally was anyway. He hadn't spoken to her in several days now, no reply to his multiple texts. But he was sure he hadn't done anything to piss her off. There had to be a completely unrelated reason that she'd suddenly stopped answering his calls.

"I just want to catch her before she heads out of town," he said. "She said she was taking a case in Roane. That's not far from where we're going."

Dean grumbled, but before Sam could snap at him, the phone stopped ringing.

 _"Sam, please stop calling me."_

"Kat! You're—uh, you're okay."

 _"Yeah. I'm working. Bad time."_

"Right, sorry. I just…I got worried."

 _"God—I'm fine, Sam. Really bad time."_

"Okay. Should I call you back?"

 _"I'll call you."_

"Great, uh… You know about how long you'll be? Kinda important."

 _"Well, eight of them, one of me. I'll call you in fifteen if I'm still breathing."_

Before he could reply, she hung up on him.

Sam sighed, tossing his phone up on the dashboard. He threw a nasty look at Dean, who raised his hands off the wheel in defense.

"Hey, don't look at me. She's your buddy."

It took more than fifteen minutes for Kat to call him back. In fact, it was closer to an hour. He desperately wanted to call her again, at least send her a text to make sure she'd made it out alright. But if she was captured, there was nothing he could do, and if she wasn't, he had no doubt that there'd be hell to pay next time he saw her.

Finally, his phone lit up, and he scrambled to answer the call.

"Kat?" he asked, putting the phone on speaker. "You okay?"

 _"Yeah, that's one word for it,"_ she groaned. _"I fucking hate vamps."_

"Vampires?" Dean's eyes left the road. "You went after eight vampires solo? Are you insane?"

 _"Not certifiably."_

"Kat…"

 _"Sam, I don't know what you want from me. I was out of options."_

"You call for back up! Or at least give someone a heads up where you're going. Us, Bobby…"

 _"I did give you a heads up."_

"After I called you!"

 _"Christ, you sound like my mom. The sixteen-year-old girls I just saved aren't complaining, so I don't know why you are."_

Sam bit back a sigh. He looked over at Dean, who made a quick cutting motion to his throat. Don't push it.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked, turning back to the phone.

 _"I'm fine. Just a few bumps and bruises. What's got you so pissy?"_

"Are you still in Roane?"

 _"Yeah, why?"_

"We caught a case a couple hours away from you. We could use the help. You know, back up."

 _"Shut up, asshole. What's the case?"_

"Connor Beverly Behavior Medical Center," Sam read off his notebook. "A girl named Anna Milton escaped from a locked ward, took out an attendant twice her size."

 _"O-kay? And this qualifies as a case because…?"_

"She was admitted for causing a public disturbance. Attacking people on the street and screaming about the Apocalypse."

 _"Not to be a bitch, Sam, but people stand on sidewalks screaming about the Apocalypse in every major American city literally every day."_

"Thank you," said Dean smugly.

Sam glowered.

"Look, we don't know what's special about her, but we do know there are a bunch of demons headed her way—powerful ones. Given the circumstances I don't think that can be a coincidence."

 _"Demons?"_ Kat echoed, surprised. _"Where did you hear that?"_

"Right, uh…" He could feel Dean's eyes on him as he fidgeted with the phone in his hands. "Friend of ours was tracking them. Tipped us off."

 _"Oh. Okay. I didn't know you had more people on Team Apocalypse."_

"We don't," said Dean.

"Anyway," Sam said quickly, "it's only about seven hours from you. Dean and I are making our way from Oregon, but it's gonna take us a couple days. I was just wondering if you'd be able to swing by and get some of the footwork rolling."

Kat deliberated, and he heard her blow out a labored breath.

 _"Yeah, sure. But be ready to explain to my mom why I'm coming home a few days late. I doubt she'll forgive anyone but you."_

"I still think that's hilarious," Dean chuckled. "She's really got you on lockdown, huh?"

 _"It's not lockdown, it's reality. I live in her apartment, and we run the same company. If I don't come home, it's more work for her. Sorry that I have someone who's actually worried about me."_

"Oh, well excuse me Miss Tink—…"

"Thanks a lot, Kat," said Sam, cutting his brother off. "I'll send you everything I've got."

 _"Alright. See you soon."_

Sam hung up the phone and rounded back on his brother. He knew it wouldn't do any good, but he wasn't done glaring at him.

Unfortunately, Dean beat him to the punch.

"So a friend, huh?" he said, keeping his eyes on the road. "That's all you're gonna tell her?"

"That's all she needs to know, Dean."

"I don't know. Leaving out that a demon tipped us off kinda skews her perception of the case, don't you think? You don't think that's a little manipulative?"

"Manipulative?" Sam gaped at him. "Dean, you were the one telling me I didn't have to tell her about my demon powers. That I should leave her on need-to-know."

"Yeah, well that was before she spent two hours on the phone with Bobby teaching him how to use a scanner so she could help us research Lucifer's seals. Calling her into the field, working with a demon, I'd say that qualifies as need-to-know!"

"She's not gonna get involved," said Sam resolutely. "She'll poke around a bit, lay the groundwork for us, and when things get hairy, I'll send her home. I don't want her around this any more than you do."

"Right," Dean snorted. "Because Kat's so great at following directions. I mean, what are you hoping for, Sam? You're gonna ask her to work alongside a demon and what—just hope she doesn't notice?"

"Ruby's not coming on the hunt, Dean. I know you don't like her, but she's just giving us intel. We're not working with her."

"Yeah, says you. But that bitch has a way of weaseling her way into places she don't belong. If this case is real, and that's a big _if,_ the last thing we need is Kat going _Kill Bill_ because you didn't give her the full story."

"I know," said Sam. He stared out the window, trying to keep himself from contemplating just how right Dean was. "But if the case is real, we're gonna need all the help we can get. And Kat won't understand that."

"Well, that makes two of us," Dean grumbled. "At least we know she's got a good head on her shoulders."

Sam didn't bother answering. Dean had been bitchy ever since they'd left the bar, ever since they'd bumped into Ruby. And he got it. The last time Dean had seen her, she'd been coaching Sam on using his powers.

But that was behind him now. He wasn't using his powers. That didn't change things with Ruby. She still wanted Lilith dead, still wanted to help. Sam didn't dare admit it, but knowing that she was willing to offer her assistance even when he wasn't drinking her blood made him feel…relieved. Like she understood he was more than his demonic gifts. She really and truly wanted to help them.

Dean wouldn't understand that. Neither would Kat. After his last conversation with her, he wasn't sure who would be more hard-headed about working with a demon.

It wasn't something he could worry about now. Anna Milton was in danger, that much he was certain. They would work the case, and deal with the fallout later—whatever that may be.

He began typing his notes into his phone, sending a message to Kat that would catch her up to speed.

A few seconds later, the notification popped up on Kat's screen. She scanned it quickly, then pressed ignore, and held the phone back up to her ear.

"It's Sam, Mom. He wouldn't ask unless he had a really good reason."

 _"Katherine Diana, you are already on thin, thin ice!"_

Her mother was bordering on hysterical, and had been since she'd picked up the phone. In retrospect, Kat realized it might have been better to lie about the entire vampire case, but there was no going back now. Some price to pay for honesty.

 _"Eight vampires. Eight! And—no back up, no warning! You could have—I mean, even death aside! And now—now you want to go on another hunt? Absolutely not."_

"Mom…"

 _"No! Katherine, I am putting my foot down. I have said no back to back cases. I have said it time and again. I do not like you pushing yourself that much, I do not like you taking so many risks, and—and absolutely not!"_

"Yeah, well I'm not actually asking for your permission. I just figured I'd give you a heads up where I'm gonna be."

Silence on the other end of the line. She'd done it this time, for sure. Her mother would fly across the country, take a taxi, wreck the Prius, and drag her home by the hair. Well, she could try. Kat was an adult, and it was her choice to make.

She was surprised that her mother's next words were not sharp and furious. They were so soft, Kat wondered if she'd imagined them.

 _"What aren't you telling me?"_

"What?" asked Kat, alarmed. "What do you mean?"

 _"Kat, last month I practically had to chase you out of the house to go on a hunt with Sam Winchester. Now you're chomping at the bit to go help him?"_

"I am not," she said, rolling her eyes. "Besides, isn't this what you wanted? For me to play nice?"

 _"Yes. Yes, I wanted you to forgive him, and normally I'd be over the moon."_

"But…?"

Her mother hesitated.

 _"Ever since I got back from Vegas, things have been different. I don't know. You're on the phone with him every other day, you've got your nose buried in your laptop, your room is—is covered in notes that I can barely make any sense of…"_

"You've been in my room?" she asked quickly, to no response.

 _"Katherine, you're my daughter, and I love you, but you've never been a forgiving person. You're stubborn as a mule, and you've dug your heels into every grudge you've ever had. For you to suddenly be ready to fly off and help Sam at a moment's notice…something must have changed. Something big."_

In her car, Kat bit her lip. It was true, something had changed—the fucking world was ending. Kat was only just coming to terms with that as a reality, the real possibility that a demon could end the world. And the more she read, the more real it got. Dean had been right when he said that she couldn't hide in her apartment. Even if she hadn't been chipping in with their research, things were getting stranger in the news. Wild crimes, animals going extinct, crazy weather patterns and unexplained incidents. Something was happening, and she could either try and stop it, or let it hit her full force.

But just because Kat had come to terms with it didn't mean she was prepared to face it. She'd kept her research confined to her room, her office at the gym. No matter how many times she practiced the conversation in her head, she had no way to tell her mother what was going on. Her mom was overbearing on a good day, and that was just with ghosts and ghouls. If she tried to tell her mother she was working against a high level demon to save the free world…well. Then her mother really would drag her home by the hair.

Kat wanted to do the right thing. She didn't want to lie. But if that was the only way she could help save the world, she was prepared to keep her mother in the dark.

 _"Kat, you can talk to me,"_ her mother pleaded. _"I can't help you if you don't."_

"I know, Mom. And I will, just…It's a lot to go into. Right now, I have to make sure that this girl is safe. I promise I'll tell you everything when I get home. Okay?"

 _"…Okay."_

It clearly wasn't the answer she wanted, but she'd take it for the moment. The one word filled Kat with relief. She didn't want to get into the Apocalypse drama at all, and she _definitely_ didn't plan on doing it over the phone. She wasn't that dumb.

"Thank you, Mom. I'll call you with an update tomorrow."

 _"You better. Or I will put Harley in charge and come out there myself."_

"Fair enough," Kat laughed. "I love you."

 _"I love you, too. Be safe."_

"Always am."

Her mother's bitter laugh came through just before she ended the call.

Kat ran a hand through her hair, attempting to massage the headache out of her scalp. It had been a rough night. It had taken her two days to pinpoint the vampire nest, and with the victim count rising, she'd been worried she was too late. But the coven had been mostly snackers, dragging out the feeding rather than gorging one girl in one go. It was sick, but at least it meant that all four girls had been alive and human when she got there.

There was nothing she wanted more than to book a hotel room and go to sleep. Well, except maybe take a shower and clean off all the blood. But with Sam's text waiting for her on her phone, she knew there wasn't any time to waste. Demons weren't something you messed around with—and Kat was ready to kick some ass.

She grabbed her duffel bag from the back seat, and shimmied out of her vampire-soaked tank and flannel. Her skin she went over with some spare Wet Ones she had in the glove compartment. That was about as clean as she'd be able to get for the moment.

Her phone was propped up on the dashboard, allowing her to read while she changed. Anna Milton, twenty-two, born in Ohio. She'd been a graduate student at Georgetown for four months, and patient at Connor Beverly Behavioral Medical Center for just two. She'd been admitted in late September for harassing pedestrians, even injuring one when she grabbed for his arm. She'd been begging him to listen, insisting that it was important, screaming about the coming of the Apocalypse.

Kat had to admit, her timing was pretty impeccable.

There wasn't a lot of information about her escape, though. It was recent, and not strange enough to hit the major news outlets. Sam and Dean must have been going over everything with a very fine toothed comb to catch it.

Sam had already called ahead for the missing person reports, posing as someone from the sheriff's department. Kat would, again, be posing as their assistant, beginning the preliminary investigation while they finished up some paperwork from a previous case. There was no doubt in her mind that it had been Dean's idea.

So the next morning, freshly showered but running on virtually no sleep, Kat flashed her badge at the reception desk of the hospital and was escorted to Ward 42 to inspect Anna's recently vacated room. Waiting for her was Dr. Weisten—Anna's psychologist.

"I have to warn you," the woman said as Kat peered out the window, "I'm not sure how much I'll be able to share. I still have to abide by doctor-patient confidentiality."

"I completely understand, ma'am. Anything you can tell me without breaching that contract would be greatly appreciated."

"Of course. I want to help however I can."

"Great." Kat glanced again between the window and the door. There was a panel there that looked out into the hallway, the glass splintered and broken. "So how exactly did she escape? The windows are all control-locked, right?"

"Yes," said Dr. Weisten. "Patients can only open them up so far, barely enough to stick an arm through. No, Anna escaped out the door."

"She just…walked out?"

Dr. Weisten pursed her lips defensively.

"Anna might be ill, but she's highly intelligent. We believe she planned this in advance, waiting until the orderlies were on their medical rounds, hiding behind the door. It was a small window of opportunity, but we she was well-prepared."

"That's understandable," said Kat, raising an apologetic hand. "Is there anything you can share about her time before Connor Beverly? You said she was intelligent, educated?"

"Absolutely. She was on track to a graduate degree in journalism, very popular, lots of friends. One of the top in her class. Unfortunately, schizophrenia is a fast-acting illness. Within weeks she was overcome with paranoia and delusions."

"Delusions like?"

The doctor did not answer. Her eyes drifted to Anna's empty bed, its pristine white sheets already remade. The room looked like it was already ready for a new occupant. Whatever small personal touches Anna had added were already wiped away.

"Dr. Weisten," Kat said softly, "I understand that this is privileged information. But the more we understand about Anna's mindset, the easier it will be for us to estimate where she's gone. We just want to find her as quickly as possible."

"Of course," said Dr. Weisten, more to herself than anything. "No, I understand that. Anna's father is a church deacon in Ohio. Most of her delusions had religious overtones—angels, demons, the Apocalypse."

"I see." Kat nodded, as if this was intriguing new information. "Anything specific? Where it was starting, how long we had?"

"No, nothing like that. She did have a sketchbook though. We use it in therapy, to communicate her ideas."

She walked over to the dresser, searching through the different drawers. Kat thought this was a little much, as patients probably didn't have many personal effects to begin with. The sketchbook was pretty much the only thing there.

"Here," she said, offering the book to Kat. "She thought demons were…well, everywhere. That they were actively working to bring the end of days."

"How exactly would they do that?"

"She said they were breaking something—some kind of trials, I think. There were hundreds they had to go through, but they only had to succeed in so many to free the Devil. Like…"

"Seals." Dr. Weisten looked at her sharply, and Kat smiled sheepishly. "My mom's kinda an evangelist junkie. It's in Revelations."

"Ah. I wasn't aware."

Kat opened the notebook, flipping through the first few pages. Most of the drawings were incidental—vague forms with horns and scribbles for faces, ornate crosses and elaborate stained-glass windows. She flipped the page and paused over an urgently written scrawl— _RAISING OF THE WITNESSES._ There was a cartoonish likeness of a ghost on the adjoining page, a woman rising out of a pitch black grave. On the next, another note— _SAMHAIN THE NEXT SEAL IS BROKEN._

Well. That was a little too close for comfort.

"Do you mind if I take a few photos of these?" Kat asked. "Purely for reference."

"Well, I suppose some of Anna's concrete memories might be expressed in her artwork."

Dr. Weisten waved her ahead, and Kat quickly snapped a few pictures on her phone.

"Did she ever mention any names?" she asked as she perused the drawings. "Anyone she knew that was involved, someone she might go see for help?"

"No one real," Dr. Weisten sighed. "She talked about her father a lot. And there was the demon—Lilith. That I believe came from her religious upbringing, but besides that—well, that and Dean."

"Dean?" Kat froze, staring at the doctor. "Dean who?"

"I'm not sure she ever mentioned a last name," she replied, thrown by Kat's urgency. "It was one of her earlier delusions, that a man named Dean had been saved to fight for the angels. She saw him as a sort of storybook hero. I assumed she was fixating on someone she knew, but she insisted she'd never met him. She just knew."

"How did she know? I mean if—if she wasn't fixating on someone in one of her classes, did she mention how she… _thought_ she knew?"

"Many of Anna's delusions were fueled by voices. Thoughts presenting themselves as outside whispers, high pitched humming."

"Humming?"

Kat's panic throbbed again, and Dr. Weisten gave her a dubious look.

"Yes. I believe it was an unrelated case of tinnitus. It made her ideas seem more real."

"Right, no, I uh…I can only imagine." She closed her phone, and passed the notebook back to the doctor. "I'd like to speak to the orderly she attacked as well. Is he available for questioning?"

"Mr. Appleman is on medical leave at the moment. Anna managed to knock him out, and he's suffering from a mild case of amnesia. I'm not sure how much good it will do you."

"I'd rather be thorough," said Kat. "Do you know where I can reach him?"

Dr. Weisten led Kat back to the front of the hospital, retrieving Appleman's contact information and current address from the secretary at the front desk.

"I hope you find her," she said, handing over the paperwork. "It's dangerous for Anna to be out there alone right now."

"Trust me, I know," said Kat. "We'll do everything in our power to make sure she's safe."

She took her notes and her files back to the Prius, and collapsed into the drivers' seat. She knew it _was_ dangerous for Anna to be out alone, even more than Dr. Weisten realized. And even though time was of the essence, she could not bring herself to move.

Kat stared out her windshield, mulling over the doctor's words. Anna knew about Dean. She knew that Dean had been saved because the voices told her, the whispering voices with high-pitched humming. If Kat had to guess, she'd say that Anna was listening to angels.

Yet somehow, Anna had avoided all the nasty side effects. Kat thought back to the Astoria hotel—the wild radio, the blown out windows, Dean screaming and bleeding from the ears. Dr. Weisten hadn't mentioned anything like that. Just a high-pitched humming, like a ringing in her ears, and dream-like voices. That was something that sounded familiar. Because at the end of the day, there had only been one person that survived the hotel incident without head-splitting pain.

And that had been Kat.


	19. Chapter 19

It was nearly noon by the time the Winchesters pulled up to the motel a few days later. The drive hadn't done anything to improve Dean's mood, or his attitude with his brother. It also didn't help that as soon as he threw Baby into park, Sam's phone went off in his pocket. He didn't need to say anything about the caller. His guilty expression had been enough.

Dean stormed away from the car. The last thing he needed was more bullshit about Ruby.

He wandered his way through the motel. They'd get their own room later if they needed it. For now they were just meeting up with Kat, who had been staying there for a day or two already. He picked his way down the hall until he found her room, then knocked too heavily on the door.

"Hey, Kat, it's Dean. Open up."

There was silence inside the room. It only ticked him off even more.

"Hey! Blondie! Know you're in there, I'm parked next to your tin piece of crap outside. We got work to do, so stop fucking around."

Nothing. He could just imagine her leaning on the other side of the door, giggling at his expense as she refused to answer him. Or sprawled out over her bed, flipping him off in silence as she ignored his yelling.

The door shook dangerously under his fist.

"I swear to God, Tinkerbell, either you open this door or I'm gonna head back to the Impala, grab my goddamn shotgun, and..."

"And flush my security deposit down the drain?"

He stopped, his head whipping to the right where Kat was walking down the hallway. She carried two heavy-looking plastic bags, and wore a smile of the utmost amusement.

"You're early again," she offered, passing him one of the bags. "Sam still being a bitch about bathroom breaks?"

"He's always a bitch," said Dean moodily. He peeked inside the bag, the smell of bacon grabbing his attention. "The hell were you?"

"Getting an early lunch from the diner."

He stared at her blankly. "Your car's in the parking lot."

"Yeah, and the closest diner's only about a mile and a half away. I walked."

"You what?"

Kat paused in the middle of unlocking the door and gave him a withering look. "Dean, do you want the burger or not?"

He was smart enough not to reply.

Kat led the way into the motel room, dropping her bag of food on the table and kicking off her shoes. Dean pulled up a chair, scanning the room out of habit. He'd expected it to be clean, especially after their last visit to her apartment. But it seemed like when she wasn't manic, Kat was actually kind of a slob. Her clothes were all half out of her duffel bag, and her one suit had been slung over the back of her chair. She'd had the sense to keep her files and case notes out of sight, but when she tossed them on the bed they didn't seem to be in any real order.

"Where is Sam anyway?" she asked, shuffling through the mess.

"He's on the phone with…well, the chick who gave us the tip. She's keeping tabs on the demons, so we'll know if we're about to have company."

"Right, right. I didn't realize so many people knew about the Apocalypse. Kinda surprised you let someone in on it."

"Why?" he asked with a smirk. "Starting to feel special?"

Kat didn't take the bait.

"Well you didn't seem thrilled when you found out Sam let me into the loop. I figured the inner circle wasn't that big."

"It's not. Sam's just got a big mouth."

Dean's jaw clenched, struggling to keep his own mouth shut. He knew that Kat was not going to be happy when she found out the truth about Ruby. He knew that she deserved to know—know what she was being asked to do, what she was getting involved in, and where their info was coming from. But he also knew that he didn't want to be on the receiving end of that shitstorm. After all, it wasn't his secret to tell. Still…

"His girlfriend's not really my type. But they're thick as thieves."

He saw Kat freeze at that, but it was barely for a moment. When she looked over her shoulder at him, she'd already fixed her face into a tight smirk.

"So she's decent with standards and taste?"

"Very funny," he said with a wry smile. "No, Ruby's just…a different breed."

"Right. And uh…how long has she been around?"

"Little over a year, I guess. Her thing with Sam? No idea. I missed a bunch of shit in Hell, and he's not talking."

They lapsed into silence, each of them focusing on their own food and their own thoughts. The burger wasn't half bad. A little cold from the hike back, but better than your average drive-thru. It would have been better with beer, but Dean settled for the watered-down Coke that had been in the bag. His short conversation with Kat looked like it had put her on edge. She had torn through her BLT at unladylike speeds, and was handling her notes with a little too much force. He wasn't about to poke the bear by complaining.

Sam showed up a couple minutes later, joining them when Kat called that the door was open.

"Hey," he said, grinning as he let himself in. "Thank you so much for doing this, Kat. It's a huge help. We really can't thank you enough."

He crossed the room to pull her into a hug. Kat, however, did not hug him back.

"How's Ruby?"

Dean would have been lying if he said he didn't get any satisfaction from watching his brother freeze solid. Kat had to pry herself from Sam's arms, and looked up at him with a dangerous, defiant expression.

"Uh…I…" Sam spluttered, his mouth only half-functional. "R-Ruby?"

"Yeah. Your girlfriend? Dean was just telling me all about her. Sounds great. Don't know why you wouldn't think to mention it."

Sam rounded on him, but Dean simply raised his hands in defense. He leaned back in his chair, settling in for the show.

"Kat, I—of course I was gonna tell you," said Sam pleadingly.

Kat crossed her arms over her chest. "Really? When?"

"I…I don't know." Kat scoffed, and he rushed to explain, "Look, I didn't want you to have to deal with it until you had to. I knew you were gonna be upset."

"Yeah, I am! Mostly because you lied—again!"

"Wait, what?" Sam nearly laughed, which Dean thought was a very bad move. " _That's_ why you're upset? Because I didn't tell you about it out the gate?"

"Yeah, you're damn right I am! I mean, I know it's your life, Sam, but fuck! You have a really fucked up track record. We trade sob stories and you just _forget_ to mention something like that?"

"I—I know. And I'm sorry. You've got every right to be pissed."

"…No, I don't."

Sam stared at her as she turned her back on him. Dean was engrossed too, watching has she ran a hand through her hair and steadied her breathing. She squeezed her eyes shut, and when she spoke, her voice was much softer.

"It's your life, Sam," she repeated. "It's been three years, and you're an adult. You can do what you want. Just stop lying about it."

"No, absolutely. You're right." Sam was visibly holding his breath, his hands awkwardly fidgeting in front of him. "So…we're good?"

"Yeah, sure," said Kat, rolling her eyes. "We're good."

"Okay." He sighed in relief, and grew a disbelieving smile. "Thanks, Kat. I—I really didn't think you'd approve."

"What, you want my blessing?" she scoffed.

"Uh, yeah. I guess not."

"And by the way, I am not going to be the one that tells Harley."

Bam. And there was the twist.

Dean barely suppressed a grin as Sam froze all over again, wracked by confusion and trying desperately not to show it.

"Harley?"

"Yes, Harley," said Kat bitterly. "You know, my employee? The one who's infatuated with you? The one you were using to drag me across the country? Pretty sure you didn't mention you were in a relationship when you went on your little date with her."

"Yeah, Sam," said Dean, taking a sip of his soda. "Cheating's cold, even for you."

Sam turned very slowly to glare at him. It was a pretty powerful bitch face, but Dean's self-satisfaction was a hardy shield. He smiled, and took another bite of his bacon cheeseburger. Victory made it taste that much sweeter.

"Sorry," said Sam shakily. He cleared his throat. "And 'relationship's probably uh…a strong word."

"Whatever," said Kat. She tossed him a water bottle and clapped him on the chest. "Where we at with the demons?"

"With uh…?"

"The demons, Sam. The ones after Anna Milton?"

"Right! Uh right, them. They're—yeah, they're closing in. So if we're gonna find Anna, we've gotta move fast."

"Fine by me," said Dean, wiping his hands on his jeans. "What you got for us, Kat?"

"Honestly, not much more than you guys sent me."

She picked up her file and joined him at the table. She spread the papers out in front of her—police reports, medical write ups, even transcripts and social media posts. Kat pointed out one of the photos, tapping on the face of a young woman with bright red hair.

"Anna Milton, early twenties, recently diagnosed with schizophrenia. I talked to her doctor, the professors in her grad program, some of her classmates. All of them said she was a great kid, bright, friendly—and then she just wasn't. Around September she started spacing out, couldn't eat, couldn't sleep. Started talking about demons and the Apocalypse, how Lucifer was gonna rise up and end the world. Doctor didn't think much of it cause her dad was a preacher. She figured her delusions were focusing on her dad's sermons, taking things to the extreme."

"So she's just another crazy," said Dean. "Perfect."

"I don't know, Dean," said Sam, shaking his head. "Around September? That's the same time you woke up."

"Yeah, and it's also around Labor Day! It doesn't mean jack squat. This chick's not the only one screaming some bull about the end of days, and none of them are a case."

"Well, I wouldn't say that."

Kat unearthed another pile of papers from under the diner bags, and laid them on top of the first batch. It was a bunch of grainy photos, cell phone pics of a messy sketchbook. There were heavy, blocky scribbles, detailed doodles, twisted cartoons. Dean wrinkled his nose. It was creepy shit.

"These are from Anna's journal. It's just supposed to be a therapy technique, but some of this stuff… I know you guys haven't told me everything, but this all seems pretty accurate to me."

"Dean, check this out."

Sam offered him one of the papers, where scratchy handwriting read _RAISING OF THE WITNESSES._ Underneath was the symbol they'd identified from the ghosts, the brand that had been burned into Meg Master's skin.

Dean pursed his lips.

"So some religious chick has access to Google and a bunch of old school church books. I still don't see why this is our problem."

"Could you forget about Ruby for just two minutes?" bitched Sam. "If Bobby was the one who showed us this case, you'd already be out the door. If Anna knows this much, she could be in real danger, no matter how she got the information."

"And this doesn't seem fishy to you, huh?" Dean countered. "Tiny girl breaks out of a hospital with all this information, no one on her tail? How do we know she's not a demon, huh?"

"Right. And why would a demon be warning humans about the Apocalypse?"

"Well, why don't you tell me? You're the one who seems so keen on the idea that they wanna stop it."

They glowered at each other, continuing their argument in silence until Kat cleared her throat.

"Okay, clearly I'm missing something here, but if we could just come back to this, I'm pretty sure Anna's not a demon. At least, she wasn't when they admitted her to the medical center."

"Why not?" asked Dean.

Kat was already pulling out another one of her notebooks, a tiny one like she'd had in Pennsylvania.

"I finally managed to track down the orderly yesterday, the one she knocked out. He wasn't just on medical leave. He basically barricaded himself in his apartment."

"He was spooked?" asked Sam.

"Yeah, that's one way to put it. The hospital told me he was suffering from short term amnesia, but I'm pretty sure he was possessed."

"That doesn't sound like demonic possession," said Dean, shaking his head. "You don't just black out. It's like you're awake, just not behind the wheel."

"That much I know," said Kat. "But if you didn't know the truth about demons, and you attacked someone without being able to explain why you wanted to attack them, wouldn't you just lie about it too?"

"Probably," Sam sighed. "What'd he say when you talked to him?"

"Well he was definitely afraid of sounding crazy. I asked him about the last thing he remembered and finally got him to cop to smelling sulfur."

"You just asked the dude if he smelt anything funny when he woke up that morning? For real?"

"I'm not an idiot, Dean. I told him he might have been drugged, and if he was it would mean that Anna had outside help in the escape attempt. After that he was a little more forthcoming. He wouldn't tell me exactly what went down, but when he went to give Anna her pills he remembers he was excited."

"Excited?" Sam repeated. "And then?"

"Then nothing," Kat sighed. "He turned back from the door, there was a dresser flying at him, and he didn't see it coming. When he woke up he was back to normal."

"A dresser? How exactly did she throw a dresser at him?"

"Search me," Kat answered. "Adrenaline?"

"Demonic powers?"

"Dean," Sam said flatly.

"What?" Dean snapped, leaning forward on the table. "Say the demons did go after her cause she knew too much. What happened to the one riding the orderly? He gets in the room, switches hosts, and the nurse gets knocked cold by the patient-turned-demon."

"I don't think so," said Kat. "The hospital wouldn't let me look at all the security tapes—high-profile patient confidentiality and whatever. But I had the hospital email me all the clips they could fine of Anna from the moment she left her room to the moment she left the building. Now I haven't been toe-to-toe with a demon, but she looked pretty much scared shitless, which is not what the orderly was experiencing at all. No clue how she did it, but it sounds like she really did manage to get away."

There was a beat of silence before she looked up, her eyes flicking between the two of them.

"What?"

"Nothing," said Sam, hiding a smile. "You were uh…very thorough."

"Okay. You said it was important."

"It is! And this—this is great. Really."

"But?"

"But nothing," said Dean, sporting his own smirk. "Don't look now, Blondie. You might actually be getting good at this."

She frowned at the compliment, but Sam interrupted before she could snap at him.

"Alright, so we know she's real, we know she's on the run. None of that helps us narrow down where to find her."

"Well…there's one other thing," said Kat reluctantly. "She knows about Dean."

Dean blinked. "Excuse me?"

"All of Anna's info—her delusions—she gets because she hears voices. Whispering voices and high-pitched humming. Sound like anyone else we know?"

"You think she's talking to angels?" asked Sam.

"I don't know about talking, but listening for sure. And one of the first things she overheard was that Dean had been saved. That he might be able to stop all this."

Dean's heart sank. He was overcome by the uncomfortable feeling of Sam's I-told-you-so gaze boring into his skull.

"Still think it's a bogus case?"

"Shut up," Dean growled. "How is that supposed to help us find her? I mean, I haven't seen this chick anywhere before."

"Not you," said Kat. "The angels. If she can hear them, they'll probably be able to find her a lot more quickly than we will."

"Kat," sighed Sam, "I don't know if you've noticed, but the angels don't really care about the little people in this. They care about the seals, and that's about it."

"And you don't think a breach in their security would be interesting to them? If the demons get ahold of Anna, they'll know everything the angels know. How's that for a surprise weapon?"

"Look, we don't know how to contact the angels," said Dean. "They come and go as they please, and they didn't exactly leave a number for the help line."

"Don't you just like…say a prayer?"

"You want me to pray?" Dean asked incredulously. "Right. You first, princess. You tried praying in the three days you been sitting here?"

"No, I haven't," she growled. "But I'm not the one who was resurrected by God. I don't think my word counts for much up there."

"I was not resurrected by God. I was dragged upstairs by a nerd in a trench coat who wouldn't return my calls if I tried."

"I don't know, Dean. It doesn't sound like you've been putting a lot of effort into your relationship."

"Well I'm not the righteous prick with Daddy issues."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Alright, Kat has a point," Sam interrupted. "But while we're waiting for divine intervention, maybe we should start with something more basic. You check if she went home?"

"Yeah I talked to her roommate," Kat said, easing her glare away from Dean. "She hasn't heard from her in weeks. No sign of her at the apartment."

"And her parents?"

"They live back in Ohio. I've been calling but I haven't been able to get in touch."

"Did you stop by?"

"No, Sam. I told you. They live in Ohio."

"I'm sorry," Dean laughed, "we're looking for a missing girl and you didn't think to check her damn house? Christ, I mean—forget everything I just said about you being good at this."

"Oh, well excuse me," Kat snarled. "You told me to come scope out the hospital, so that's what I did. I didn't realize I was cleared for full-duty Apocalypse work!"

"Kat, do you have an address?" Sam asked tiredly.

"Of course I have an address."

"Okay. Send it to my phone, and Dean and I will meet you there."

Before Dean could argue, Sam grabbed him by his jacket and hauled him out of his seat. Dean grumbled a few choice words about manhandling, which Sam pointedly ignored. He dragged him right out into the hallway. Then he gave him an extra shove for good measure.

"You're an asshole, you know that?"

"Hey, that's a rookie mistake," Dean defended. "That's worse than a rookie mistake. She deserves it."

"That's not what I'm talking about."

Sam turned on him. He was so stormy, so furious, that Dean almost felt bad. Then he reminded himself why they were arguing, and he didn't.

"Yeah, well you deserve it too." Dean pushed past him, twirling the car keys around his fingers. "Come on. Let's just hope the demons left some pieces of redhead for us to find."

The drive to Ohio sucked. Sam was so pissed about having to tell the truth about Ruby that he refused to talk to Dean at all. Dean was so pissed about literally everything else that he didn't give a rat's ass what Sam thought. He just put on some Led Zeppelin and put his foot to the floor. The trip should have taken about eight hours, but with his frustration fueling Baby, it only took about six and a half. And that was with a pit stop to change into their dumbass undercover suits.

They slowed down as they reached a quiet residential area. It was a nice little neighborhood, equidistant houses with front doors that were all painted the same color. Kinda Stepford, definitely Christian suburbia.

"Alright, which house is it again?" asked Dean

"Uh, 206," said Sam, looking up from his phone. "Should be about halfway down this street."

"Can you believe we made such good time?" He tested out a smile, and drummed his fingers along the steering wheel. "Bet we can clear the house before Kat shows up. Basic sweep, figure out where we're heading next, and then we…"

The idea was over before it was finished. As they pulled up to the yellow cottage, they realized the curb in front had already been claimed by the tiny silver Prius. Kat was leaning against the trunk, her hair pulled back, tugging on the edges of her navy blue blazer.

"You were saying?" Sam prompted.

"I was saying you could shut the hell up."

Dean had to park the car at the next house over. He did not acknowledge Kat as he walked down the sidewalk, when he passed her on the curb, or as he walked up to the house. It didn't annoy her like he'd hoped. She followed him up the walkway, just as silent as he was.

"How'd you get here so fast?" Sam asked as they walked up the steps.

"Hm? Oh, I called Mom. Asked her to find me a route that might beat rush hour traffic."

"Or you drive like a crazy person," Dean grumbled.

Kat shrugged it off. "Spoil sport."

Sam intervened, nodding up to the house. "What's it look like?"

"Not good. Two cars in the driveway, no sign of life inside. Either they are really quite people, they're on vacation, or..."

"Or they're already bleeding out," Dean finished. "Alright, well let's not keep 'em waiting."

He bowed Sam forward, letting him take the lead after he knocked on the Milton's front door. There was no response. Sam knocked again, and carefully tried the handle. It wasn't locked.

Sam glanced back at Dean, who shrugged, and then pushed the door open.

"Mr. and Mrs. Milton?" he called down the hall. "We're from the sheriff's department. We just wanted to ask you a couple questions about your daughter?"

Dean followed him inside, Kat on his heels. She was right about one thing; it didn't look like anyone was home. There were no sounds besides their footsteps, no coats that hadn't been hung up yet, no loose change by the door. It was freezing, and there was an overpowering smell of shitty air freshener, or that weird stuff rich people put it pots. The place barely looked lived in.

In the living room, they found out why.

Sam was the first to find them, flinching back with a sigh of disappointment. Dean made a similar noise. He'd been right on the money—two bodies, throats sliced, blood seeped and dried into the expensive looking carpet. It sucked being right about everything all the time.

"Fuck," Kat gasped from behind him.

"Doesn't look recent," he said, frowning at the crusty carpet. "Or smell recent."

"Is that the deal with the potpourri? Covering their tracks?"

"Since when do demons cover their tracks?" Dean frowned at the rest of the room. "This don't seem right. I mean, unrelated home invasion? Rando murderer, maybe?"

"Guys, I'm pretty sure it's demons," said Sam. He kneeled down, swiping his fingers across the hardwood floor and sniffing them. He recoiled. "Sulfur. They definitely beat us here. Whatever the deal is with this Anna girl..."

"Yeah, they want her," Dean finished. "They're not screwing around. Still, why waste time covering it up? Not really their style to care about like...forensic countermeasures."

"I don't think it's forensic."

Kat had moved to the window, and was peering out through the curtains. Her eyes slid methodically over the room, taking in the furniture, the bodies, the view. They stopped at the sulfur dust on the floor.

"They didn't wipe down. They just cleaned up what you can see from outside. Turn down the temperature, helps mask the smell—then there's less of a chance the bodies get discovered. And if no one knows Anna's parents have been murdered..."

"Then they don't know anyone's looking for her," said Sam, nodding in agreement. "If the cops don't think there's any danger, they're not gonna rush the investigation. Less people in the way for the demons."

"I hate smart demons," Dean groaned. "Alright. So, I'm _Girl, Interrupted_ , and I know the score of the Apocalypse, just busted out of the nut-box...possibly using superpowers, by the way. Where do I go?"

"Guess we better take a look around," Sam suggested. "I'll take upstairs, you take down?"

Dean was about ready to agree when Kat spoke up from the other side of the room.

"Don't think we need to."

She held up a framed photo. It was the Miltons, all hearts still beating, dressed up in their Sunday's best in front of a large, white church. Dad was dolled up in his religious garb, and all three were smiling big. Kat pulled out her phone and held another picture by the frame's side.

"Anna's sketchbook?" asked Dean, moving closer to get a better look.

"Yeah. The first few pages were all crosses and windows, big stained glass ones like this. Look familiar?"

She tapped the glass, pointing at the near identical window over Anna's head.

"Makes sense," said Sam. "If you were religious, scared, and had demons on your ass, where would you go to feel safe?"

Dean chuckled preemptively.

"Guess we're uh, goin' to the chapel."

Sam snorted, but Kat furrowed her brow. "Why is that funny?"

"Oh come on," Dean groaned. "Everyone knows that song. It's like 'goooin' to the chapel and we're gooonna get maaarried.' _Father of the Bride_?"

Kat stared at him blankly. Slowly, she leaned over toward Sam.

"Does his brain like...fry if he doesn't make a reference?"

"Uh, yeah. Pretty sure."

"Fuck both of you. Lighten up."

They headed back outside, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Dean ducked his head inside of the Impala, grabbing his duffle and tossing Sam his own. His brother nodded wordlessly, and walked back up to the house.

"What are you doing?" asked Kat, her nose wrinkled in confusion. "We've got to go."

"After we change outta the monkey suits," Dean answered. "You should too."

"Why? Aren't we on the clock?"

"Yeah, but the last authority figure Anna saw turned out to be possessed and tried to attack her. Better to dress down, not scare her off."

"So, what? You're just gonna change inside the house of some dead people?"

Dean shrugged. "Not like the bathroom's occupied."

She served him a bitch face that could have rivalled Sam's.

"That's messed up."

"You got a better idea? What are you gonna do, change in your car?"

"None of your business what I'm gonna do," she said, climbing into the Prius. "I'll text Sam the address and meet you guys there."

Kat slammed the door behind her. She pulled out just an inch too close to Baby—enough that Dean flinched—and peeled away from the curb.

"Whatever, prude," he grumbled, before going back inside himself.

As it happened, Kat's plan actually was to change in her car. It wasn't as much of a production as Dean seemed to think. Still, she made sure to park round back before getting dressed. She didn't feel any more comfortable stripping in front of a church than she would have in a victim's house.

Back in her street clothes, Kat popped the trunk so she could review her weapons. It wasn't much. After seeing the Winchesters' trunk, it felt like even less. There was a shotgun and one or two hand guns, a small collection of knives, and a few other necessities like rope, duct tape and salt. She knew salt rounds would slow down a demon, but she didn't want to scare Anna with a shotgun. Regular bullets wouldn't do shit, and knives would probably do even less. Kat was at a loss.

Demons were big fish to fry, and they didn't go down easy. Kat had never crossed paths with one herself. She'd read about them, researched until her eyes bled when she'd been trying to find information about Jess's death. The closest she'd ever gotten was recognizing some omens in the news.

It was how Marcus used to keep her occupied in the early days. He'd sit her in front of the motel TV, toss her a couple newspapers, and tell her to look for anything she thought was suspicious. Kat was terrible at it, and he always got off on telling her that she was wrong. But even she was smart enough that a town suffering from crop failures and electrical storms probably had some shit.

"Nice guess," Marcus had granted when she'd shown him the details she'd collected. "Nasty stuff. You ever see omens like this, you call me and then you look the other way. That shit ain't none of your business."

"Why?" she demanded. "What is it?"

"I just told you, none of your damn business."

Kat pursed her lips, and snatched his bottle of vodka out of his reach.

"Hey! I—Oh, you've really got a death wish, girlie."

"What does it mean?" she repeated slowly, enunciating every single word.

Marcus scowled at her, his worn fingers drumming on the table. He considered his position. It was easy to sway him by shaking the bottle again.

"Demons," he growled, tossing her notebook back at her, "and don't get any ideas."

"Wait, demons? You mean like…?"

"No, not like the damn thing that killed your sister. Do you listen to a word I say? Forget about it. I'll call Daniels in the morning. That idiot can take care of it."

"Why? There's two of us. We can handle it."

"We?" He scoffed, and forced himself out of the chair. "There is no we here, Kitty. You don't count yet."

"Fine," she agreed, knowing it would get her further than arguing. "Then you can take them. If you've been hunting so long, what's stopping you?"

"Kat, I been hunting so long because I'm not a jackass. Some things are better left on their own. Let some other dumbass take care of it. I'm not looking to get myself killed this week."

He made a grab for the vodka, which Kat quickly pulled out of his reach. She took a step forward, using the one or two inches she had on him to look as imposing as possible, and jabbed a finger into his shoulder.

"We're looking to save people. And demons. Kill. People."

Marcus sighed. They'd been travelling together long enough that he knew when he could argue his way out of something or just order her to stop, threaten to take her home if she didn't stop being such a little brat. This wasn't one of those times.

"Yes, they do kill people," he said, with as much understanding as she could have expected. "But there are some things you don't tango with if you can help it. A fisherman don't go skinning sharks just because he knows how to lure a flounder. Now, you wanna learn how to catch flounder? I gotta be alive to teach you. And the three most important things? Stay low, stay smart, and stay calm. So we will pass off this case to someone who wants it, and go on our merry way. End of story."

He grabbed the vodka back from her, and pushed by to sit on the bed.

Kat was not satisfied.

"Are you at least going to teach me about them?" she asked, following him across the room.

"I just did."

"No, you avoided the topic like you always do. I'm talking about actually teaching me what's going on and what's out there and how to handle it. Not just how to run."

"Why? You angling for the plot next to your dad?"

Her body shook, and Marcus raised a challenging eyebrow as her arm jerked back. But she did not swing. Marcus moved around like an eighty-year old man with arthritis and gout, but he could handle himself in a fight. Much as she was dying to hit him, it wouldn't get her answers and she wouldn't get her way.

She took a deep breath, her eyes fluttering shut.

"That's right, Kitty. Put that therapy to good use. Use your breathing techniques."

"Shut up."

Kat took a seat on her own bed, watching Marcus out of the corner of her eye. He kicked off his shoes, unscrewed the vodka, and took a few swings straight from the bottle. She waited until he was at least another drink and a half in before prodding him again.

"So what do you do if it's not omens? If you're in a town with a demon and you don't have time to run away?"

Marcus swore at her under his breath. He heaved himself off the bed, rummaged in his duffle bag, and lumbered over to her, slapping something into her hand. It was a tiny, orange water pistol.

She wanted to ask if he was joking, but it wasn't likely.

"Holy water," he said before she could find her voice. "Mind you, if you're close enough to use it, you're as good as dead already. But if you feel like buying yourself two seconds to hack an exorcism or finish your drink, this'll do the trick."

"An exorcism? I can do that?"

"Well, you can try," he grumbled. "Look, I'll get you the shortest one I can find if you promise to leave it alone. Been tracking cursed objects all week and now she wants a damn demon symposium. Unbelievable."

Kat smiled down at the water pistol, standing at the trunk of the Prius. She could almost hear Marcus berating her from the beyond. Don't hunt with the Winchesters. Don't get involved with demons. Just keep your head low and handle what you can handle. Leave the rest to get someone else killed.

Some protégé she turned out to be.

She pocketed the water gun, a regular gun, and a plastic bag of salt just for kicks. Then she walked to the front of chapel to wait up for the Winchesters.

The Impala pulled up a few minutes later, Sam and Dean out of their 'monkey suits' and back in their layers of flannel. Kat wandered over as they popped the trunk, Sam keeping watch for pedestrians while Dean grabbed the essentials. He slipped Sam a handgun behind his back and pulled out a jagged looking knife for himself.

"Fancy," Kat commented, looking at the intricate runes on the blade.

"Demon-killing knife," said Dean. He flipped it in his hand, catching it by the worn wooden handle, and shut the trunk with his other arm.

"Excuse me?"

"Knife. Demon. Gank."

"You can't kill demons."

"No, _you_ can't kill demons," he said smugly. "I can. With this."

Kat made a feeble attempt to grab the blade, wanting a better look, but Dean hid it behind his back. She pouted.

"Is that what you used to get rid of Yellow-Eyes?"

"Azazel? No, that was the demon-killing gun."

"Of course. And where exactly did you get this Winchester-exclusive, demon-killing arsenal?"

"Well, the Colt's a long story. But the knife's from Sam's girlfriend."

"Ruby." Kat nodded. "Sounds like she's quite the demon expert."

"Oh yeah, for sure," Dean said with a smile. "Best in the field."

She noticed the dirty look that Sam threw at his brother, and the tight click in the corner of Dean's jaw. But she didn't push it. She'd been dragged far enough into their hunting drama. She didn't need their sibling drama too.

The three of them headed for the building, the doors unlocked and unattended. The sanctuary was empty, though a few burning candles on the altar told them that they were not alone. Sam led the way through a side door, where they found stairs to the upper level.

Kat was the last to walk into the room. It was mostly storage—boxes of old hymnals and bibles, statues that had been ditched in some redesign, extra stained glass panels. The far window took up the entire wall, casting blue and purple light beams on everything in sight. A creak in the corner made her tighten her grip on her gun. But no one moved to attack them.

"Dean…"

Sam jutted his gun toward the corner, where another panel of stained glass was leaning on the wall. Both of them lowered their weapons. Kat, reluctantly, followed suit.

"Anna?" Sam called cautiously. "We're not gonna hurt you. We're here to help. My name is Sam. This is my brother, Dean…"

"Sam? Not Sam Winchester?"

"Uh…yeah."

There was a pause, then another creak of old wood. Anna came out from behind the panel, stepping into the pastel light that was pooling in the middle of the floor. Her hospital clothes were gone, ditched for some jeans and an army jacket. She looked more surprised than either of the Winchesters. More than surprised—she was in awe.

"And you're Dean," she said softly. " _The_ Dean?"

"Well…yeah," he replied, with far too much satisfaction. "The Dean, I guess."

Anna did not seem to be bothered by his tone. If anything, the confirmation reassured her, and she walked farther into the room.

"It's really you. Oh my God. The angels talk about you. You were in Hell, but Castiel pulled you out, and some of them think you can help save us. Some of them don't like you at all," she added, looking to Sam, before her eyes landed on Kat. "And…I don't know who you are."

"Hi," she said shortly. "Chopped liver, nice to meet you."

"Hey," sighed Sam, "At least we know your head's not on the chopping block."

"Yeah, not yet," said Dean.

None of this mattered to Anna in the slightest.

"They talk about you two all the time lately," she said, looking between the boys. "I feel like I know you."

"So you do talk to angels?" Dean asked.

"Oh, no. No, no way. They probably don't even know I exist. I just kind of…overhear them. In my head. I know that sounds crazy…"

"It doesn't," Sam assured her. "Anna, we know what you can do, and we know you're not crazy. We're just not sure how you can do it."

"Neither am I," she confessed. "One day everything was fine, and the next…there's so many voices that it's hard to shut out."

"Like, right now?" asked Dean.

"Not right this second. But a lot."

"Yeah, well there's a lot going on up there," said Kat. "So we've heard."

"Anna, when did the voices start?" asked Sam. "Do you remember?"

"I can tell you exactly," she said resolutely. "September eighteenth."

Dean and Sam exchanged less than thrilled expressions.

"The day I got out of Hell," Dean confirmed.

Anna nodded. "First words I heard, clear as a bell: 'Dean Winchester is saved.'"

 _Fear not, Dean Winchester. You are saved._

Kat shuffled her feet uncomfortably.

"What do you think?" Dean asked, looking between the two of them.

"It's above my paygrade, man," said Sam. "But if I had to guess? Kat was right—about everything."

"Yeah, well I don't love it," she said, frowning at Anna. "Look, we're here to keep you safe, but we have to move fast. It didn't take a huge leap of logic to get here. We need to get you out of here, like now."

"Please," said Anna, nodding fervently. "And could—could we get my parents? I know they're in danger too, but I was too scared to go home."

The beat that followed was a heavy one. No one wanted to be the one to break that news.

They were saved a decision by the door banging open. A girl Kat had never seen before came running into the room, black hair flying behind her in her urgency.

"You got the girl? Good, let's go."

Anna shrieked and grabbed at Kat, who was the closest thing to her. "Her face! Her—look at her face!"

"What? Anna, what do you see?"

But Kat was the only one who was confused.

"No, it's okay," said Sam, holding up a hand. "She's here to help!"

"Yeah, don't be so sure," Dean quipped.

"We have to hurry," said the stranger.

"Why?"

"Because a demon's coming, big timer. We can fight later, Dean."

"Who the fuck is this?" Kat asked to no one in particular.

"Ruby," Dean spat, though Kat wasn't sure if he was answering her or addressing her. "Well that's pretty convenient. Showing up right as we find the girl with some big-wig on your tail?"

"I didn't bring him here, you did."

"What?"

"He followed you from the girl's house! We gotta go now!"

"Dean."

Sam's voice stopped the argument, and he pointed to one of the lone statues in the corner. The Virgin Mary had been carved from marble, pure and white—only now there was red dripping down her face, blood seeping from sightless eyes and already dripping onto the ground.

"It's too late," Ruby whispered. "He's here."

The boys jumped into action. Dean pried Anna's hand off of Kat's arm and ushered her to a closet in the far corner. Sam grabbed Kat by the shoulders and tried to do the same.

"Woah, what?" Kat snapped, digging her heels in. "No way."

"Kat, someone needs to keep Anna safe," he pleaded, still tugging her toward the corner.

"Yeah, we all do. By fighting the damn demon."

"You said so yourself, you've never fought a demon before. We need you to stay with Anna and get her out however you can."

"No! I'm not hiding in a closet while you two do all the work!"

"It's not like you're missing out on a party," Dean argued, walking back over to them with his gun in his hand. "We face the demon, we make the distraction, you take care of the girl. That simple."

"Oh, what? Because I'm a girl, I get babysitting duty?"

"Yeah, or maybe it's because we've got the demon-killing knife, and you don't!"

"No knife," Ruby interrupted. "That's not gonna work on this guy."

"Excuse me?" Dean barked. "You're telling us this now?"

"I didn't know he was coming! The knife's gonna be like a pinprick to him. Sam's gotta pull him right away."

"Woah, hold on a sec…"

"Now's not the time to bellyache about Sam going dark side. He does his thing—he exorcises that demon, or we die."

Sam hesitated. He took in the look of horror on Dean's face, the determination on Ruby's. Then, he tucked away the flask of holy water he'd been holding.

"Kat, please," he said, turning toward her again. "I'm begging you. Go with Anna."

Somehow, she couldn't bring herself to move. The idea that Sam was about to use his powers, these demonic powers from Azazel, the ones he'd sworn off forever, the ones that had gotten her sister killed and supposedly saved so many other lives, was a paralytic too strong for her to fight.

There was a sound in the hallway. Sam turned his back on her, and squared off with the door.

A moment later, it slammed open again. A middle aged man stood there, just a normal-looking guy in a button down shirt. He could have been a banker, or some sleazy real estate agent—any average guy. But even without the black eyes, without the bleeding statue and the splintered door, Kat could tell that there was something wrong with him. Something evil.

The man stepped into the room, looking at each of them in turn. His eyes flicked over Kat without any real interest—like some modernist painting that didn't seem all that impressive—and settled back on Sam in the middle of the room. He smiled.

Sam raised his hand, and the air rushed around the room. The demon paused, his eyes flashing a bright, startling white. He reached up to loosen his collar, coughing ever so slightly. And then it was over.

"Hm. That tickles."

Sam dropped his hand, and everyone in the room took a shaky step backward. The demon smiled wider, and advanced.

"You don't have the juice to take me on, Sam."

He raised his own hand, and Sam was yanked forward off his feet. His body went flying—past the demon and out the door, and there was nothing they could do but listen as his body went tumbling down the stairs.

"Kat, go!"

Dean jumped forward, pulling the knife out from behind his back. The demon caught him, and they wrestled, fighting for the blade. Kat did not have time to watch the rest.

She bolted, sprinting for the closet door and wrenching it open. Anna screamed from somewhere inside, and Kat had to push the coats apart to find her.

"Anna! Anna, it's me! We've got to go! Come on, we've gotta go now!"

Kat grabbed Anna by the wrist and pulled her along the side of the room. Grunts and shouts filled the air, but she did her best not to look at the fight. If she had to guess, she'd say that Dean was losing. But Dean had the angels to look out for him. Anna only had Kat.

They ran around the edge of the room, ducking out the door just after Sam charged back in. They cleared the stairs, burst out the front doors of the chapel, and were just turning the corner when someone popped up in their way. Anna screamed again.

"Woah, cool it!" Ruby said, holding up her hands. "It's just me!"

"No!" Anna cowered behind Kat, dragging her backward toward the street. "Her—Her face!"

"Anna, what are you talking about?"

"Her real face! She's a demon!"

Kat stopped dead. She stared at the girl across from her—but Ruby did not argue, or contradict, or defend herself. Instead, she rolled her eyes.

"Seriously? We're doing this _now?"_

"Shit." Kat scrambled, pushing Anna farther behind her and fumbling with the gun in her pocket. She held it up, and fought to keep her voice steady. "Stay the fuck back."

Ruby stared at the tiny, orange pistol.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

"Anna," Kat panted, "get ready to run."

"Go now," said Ruby.

"What?"

"I said run! Go now!"

Ruby leapt, not at Kat and Anna, but slightly to the right. The demon that had been creeping up on them snarled, collapsing to the ground as Ruby fell on top of him. Kat stumbled back, transfixed by the fight, but willing her feet to respond to the screaming fear of danger in her brain.

"Okay, go. Go, go, go, go, go!"

She grabbed Anna once more, and they sprinted toward the back of the church. For a terrifying moment, Kat couldn't remember where she'd left her keys, but they presented themselves by falling out of her jacket pocket as they ran. Anna scooped them up, jamming the unlock button, and they scrambled into the car.

The Prius screeched into the street, skidding around the corner and onto the road in front of the church. Kat slammed her foot on the gas, and then instinctively on the brake pedal. Someone had jumped in front of the car, and it had taken her a moment too long to realize that it was Ruby.

The girl ran around the car, tugging on the back door. "Let me in!"

"Are you fucking insane?!" Kat screamed. "No!"

She slammed on the gas again, ripping the demon forward several steps. But with her extra strength, Ruby did not let go of the car.

"Oh what, you wanna take on a demon like Alastair with a water gun? Great plan! I just saved your ass, so maybe you should just let me in!"

"What do we do?" Anna asked from the passenger seat, her voice feeble and terrified.

Kat glared at the road in front of her. She wanted to speed the fuck away and keep driving until she was sure Anna was safe. She wanted to turn around and drive the car right through the church doors to make sure Sam and Dean were all right. She wanted to throw the car in reverse and run the demon bitch over with all four wheels of her tiny hybrid.

But Ruby was right. She was in way over her head, with no options.

"Take this," she said, shoving the water gun into Anna's hands.

She unlocked the door, and Ruby immediately dove into the backseat. Kat hit the gas again, and they sped away from the church.

"Thank you," said Ruby bitterly. "And would you put that stupid gun down? I told you, I'm here to help."

"You never said that," Kat bit, "and even if you did, I wouldn't believe you."

"Fine. Believe what you want. But we have to get as far away from this town as quickly as possible. I know a place that's nearby. We can…"

"Absolutely not. I'm not going anywhere you think is a good idea."

"Great. So I guess we'll just drive in circles until another demon spots your license plate, huh?"

Ruby's eyes flashed pitch black in the rearview mirror. Kat swallowed her instincts. She just had to keep a level head. Stay low, stay smart, stay calm.

She tightened her hands on the steering wheel, and fixed her eyes back to the road.

"No. I know exactly where we're going."


	20. Chapter 20

**TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains themes of alcohol abuse. Please proceed with caution.**

* * *

"How much further?"

"Seriously?" Kat laughed dryly. "You're really pulling the 'are we there yet' shtick?"

"I'm just trying to get more information," Ruby said from the backseat. "You still haven't said where we're going."

"I told you. It's a safe house. That's all you need to know."

"Why the hell do you have a safe house? You're barely a hunter."

"Says who?"

"Says the holy water toy you're trying to hold me hostage with."

Kat glanced over at the passenger seat. Anna was still holding the water pistol, but she'd lowered it after the first half an hour. She sat sideways in her seat, her eyes flicking back and forth between Kat and Ruby as they bantered. She gave Kat a weak smile. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than she'd been when they left two hours ago.

"Well, you haven't tried anything," Kat sighed, turning back to the forest path she was driving along. "So something's gotta be working."

"Or I haven't tried anything because I'm not trying to hurt you. Like I said."

"Relax. It's not much farther."

"Right," mumbled Ruby. "That's what you said an hour ago."

It was another thirty minutes or so before Kat pulled off the road. She coaxed her car between a few trees, the Prius beeping in concern every time she hit a tree root. But she finally made it through to a clearing in the middle of the woods. On the other end of the stretch, there was a small cabin.

"What did I tell you?" said Kat, stepping out of the car. "Safe house."

"Is it yours?" asked Anna, following her across the grass.

"Not strictly. Owner's not around anymore, so I'm probably the only one left that knows about it. It's got all your standard defenses—books of wards, armory, long-term pantry, pre-prepped salt lines, and uh…"

"You fucking bitch."

Kat turned around, smiling at Ruby. She was still standing next to the car, looking livid. Around her, just barely visible in the dying light, was a ring of dead grass. The brown circle stretched across the ground, the lines twisting and crossing under the car.

"Devil's traps."

"Literally, what don't you understand about the words 'I'm here to help'?" Ruby spat. "I saved your ass back at the chapel, and if I hadn't been tailing those demons, you wouldn't have had any warning at all. All three of you would have been dead meat, and Anna would probably be getting flayed."

"Right, because you're a demon tailing the demons, not one of the demons tailing us. Sorry, I keep getting confused."

"Don't be racist. Let me out of here."

Kat pulled her gun, levelling it with Ruby's dark eyes. She wouldn't kill her—not while she was possessing Sam's girlfriend—but she could do enough damage to make it painful.

"I'd have to be braindead to let a demon run free. Not when you know where we are."

"And you'd have to be braindead if you think you can just call up Sam and Dean and tell them where to meet you," the demon countered. "There's gonna be more demons trailing them, just like last time. And then your safe house won't be so safe anymore."

"And your alternative is…?"

"Let me out, and I can go find them. I'll make sure they're okay and that they're not being followed."

"Bullshit. I'm not letting you anywhere near Sam and Dean. I'll exorcise you myself and figure out the rest later."

"You don't wanna do that."

Kat narrowed her eyes, and readjusted the gun. "Give me one good reason."

"Look," Ruby sighed, "you exorcise me, this chick drops dead."

"What?" Kat stared at her, and the gun fell slightly. "You—You killed her?"

"No, I didn't kill her. She's a coma patient. Timing had to be perfect to make sure nobody was home when I came knocking. Do you know how hard it was to get this body?"

"Wait…what?"

"Can we skip this part?" Ruby asked. "Sam already gave me the lecture about ethical possession. The girl is clean. If I leave, she dies. Again."

"…Sam?"

"Yes, Sam. Sam Winchester. The guy I've been working with for the past six month to track down Lilith?"

"No," said Kat. She was shaking now, and couldn't seem to stop. "No, that's the girl you're riding. And you're possessing her you sick, demonic bitch."

Ruby stopped, looking at Kat seriously for the first time. It was a probing look, one that made Kat all kinds of uncomfortable. But Ruby seemed to reach a conclusion that Kat hadn't caught up to yet.

"They didn't tell you."

She should have been used to hearing those words. They still made her muscles stiff, so tight they might have been twisting to knots right on the bone. She gulped away the prickly feeling that was rising in the back of her throat.

"Tell me what?"

"You know, this really blows," Ruby laughed sardonically. "I can't believe I'm getting stuck with this shit. It's like I do all the work in this relationship."

 _"Tell me what?"_ Kat screamed.

The other woman held up her hands.

"I'm Ruby," she said slowly. "Not the body I'm in. Me."

"You."

"Yeah. And before you start throwing around slurs again, the guys already know. They have. The whole time."

Kat did not know how to process that. She was hoping, blindly, that Ruby was lying to her. That this was all some scam to split her up from the Winchesters and make Anna easier to steal. But as Kat played through the conversations she'd heard between Sam and Dean, she was forced to consider the disgusting possibility. The way neither of them had reacted to Anna's scream of surprise, how Dean seemed to hate her while Sam kept fighting back, the snide comments, the inside knowledge, Dean's reluctance to take the case.

"They're working with…a demon?" she said, as though testing the words. "On purpose?"

Ruby actually snorted.

"Don't sound so surprised. Those two have seen so much shit that their moral compasses are a little skewed for hunters. They know that everything's not so black and white."

"How?"

"Well, it's the Apocalypse, sweetie. If there was ever a time to start seeing things in shades of grey…"

"No, how are you working with them?" Kat said through gritted teeth. "What the fuck happened there?"

Ruby gave her a sour look, but didn't snap back. She crossed her arms and leaned back on the car. She might not have been trying to make a show of getting comfortable, but it pissed Kat off all the same.

"I met the Winchesters about a year ago. It was pretty much right after they offed Azazel. Dean's clock was running out. They were trying to find a way he could squelch on the deal. I told them that if they killed Lilith, it might void Dean's contract."

"Yeah, well real bang up job on that one."

"Look, it was never about Dean. And he knew that from the start. We both knew it wasn't gonna work, but Sammy needed something to believe in. So even after Dean got dragged downstairs, I stuck around. I took care of Sam, and we've been hunting down Lilith. Together."

"Took _care_ of him?"

"Yes, alright? After losing Dean, the guy was practically suicidal. I could've lit a match and set him up in flame the amount of crap he was drinking. So I got him sober, got him working, and gave him some fucking purpose."

Her first instinct was to begin screaming again. Mama Bear Demon was the stupidest shit she'd ever heard. Even if they had been working together, why would a demon give two shits about someone's wellbeing? That was the whole mark of a demon—the humanity had been burned out of them.

But before she could articulate this, another more disturbing thought struck her.

"It was you. You're the one who taught Sam to use his powers."

Ruby fidgeted ever so slightly.

"It's not like I gave them to him," she reasoned. "But as long as he's got it, he should know how to use it. He's helping people."

"Or he's hurting himself, and you know exactly how to make it sound like a good thing. Maybe you've just gotten in his head and now you just get to sit back and watch him do everything you want because he thinks that's the only thing he can do."

"It is the only thing he can do, alright? Lilith is big, she is bad, and we don't stand a chance against her without Sam. We tried killing her the old fashioned way. And you know how that ended? With Dean in Hell, me getting tortured, and Sam all on his own on track to an early grave. His powers give us an edge, and we have to take advantage of that. Killing Lilith is more important than anything!"

"Why?"

This time it was not Kat speaking, but Anna. She had stepped up to Kat's shoulder, and was watching Ruby with morbid curiosity.

"Why fight against your own kind?"

"What, like you've never wanted to take out another human?" Ruby laughed. "Lilith and I have history, okay? Mostly the torture-payback kind. I want the bitch dead. So sue me."

"And what about the Apocalypse?" asked Kat. "Why would someone like you want to stop something like that? Daddy's big homecoming?"

"Dad? Seriously? Is that what you think Lucifer is to us?"

"Well he made you didn't he? That doesn't give you a warm, fuzzy feeling?"

"Not exactly," Ruby scoffed. "He didn't whip us up because he was feeling sentimental. He corrupted humans as a big eff you to God. It's like trashing your sister's doll to watch her cry. You don't hold on to Barbie after you cut her hair and melt her face off. Lucifer hates humans, and if he gets out of the basement, you'll be the first to go. But after he's done using us, demons'll be next. I don't know about you, but I like my face the way it is."

"I don't know. Anna seems to think you're pretty ugly, so…"

Ruby glowered at her, and tossed her hands in defeat.

"Fine. Do what you want. But the way I see it, you got two options. You can let me go find Sam and Dean, or you can stock the fridge and batten down the hatches. Because without real help, Anna's never gonna be able to go outside again."

Kat's eyes were steady as they bored into Ruby's dark ones. It was a solid excuse, but that's just what it was—an excuse, a story that Ruby had hundreds of years to rehearse. Anything she said could make sense. That wouldn't make it true.

She didn't need Marcus's voice in her head to make the decision. Ruby wasn't going anywhere. She'd leave her there, long enough to call Sam and Dean anyway. She wasn't going to tell them where she was yet. She just had to check on Ruby's story. Hopefully, it was just more demonic bullshit. If not, she was personally going to flay Sam Winchester alive and burn the world with him.

Kat reached into her pocket, preparing to do just that. But her pocket was empty.

"Oh, you looking for your phone?" Ruby called. She peeked in the driver's window. "Yeah, it's still in your cup holder. Nice plan."

Fuck. She really had to work on her exit strategies. She could always try and take it anyway, hold Ruby at holy water's gunpoint, but she didn't think Ruby would be so willing to cooperate with a logical plan.

"She's right."

Kat turned sharply to Anna, horrified. "Anna, if I let her go, she could…"

"I know," said Anna. "But she could have killed us before too. Ruby saved us at the church. She didn't hand me over."

"Yeah, but that could very well be because she wants to hand you over to someone else instead. One of her other demonic friends. Or she wants to do it herself."

"That's true. But I don't think you're right." Anna stepped forward, and laid a hand on Kat's arm. "I understand that you're upset. And I'm not sure about Sam, but I feel like I know Dean. I can't imagine him letting Ruby live if she hadn't proven herself somehow."

"Red's got a point," said Ruby from the other side of the yard.

"Shut the fuck up." Kat refocused on Anna, searching her face. "Are you absolutely sure you want me to do this?"

"I'm sure," she said with a nod. "I trust Dean."

"Yeah, well. Hopefully that's not your first mistake."

Kat sighed, tucking the gun away once more. She trudged up to the devil's trap, her eyes never leaving Ruby's. It was hard for her muscles to comply with such a stupid, stupid idea. She drew her leg back and scuffed her heel through the grass, breaking the line of dead lawn. Instantly, Ruby's eyes flashed black.

"Keep the body on ice, will ya?"

"Just go," Kat spat. "And tell Sam that he's got hell to pay when I see him."

With that, Ruby tilted her head back and opened her mouth wide. Her body stiffened, every muscle overcome with tremors as the demonic presence ripped itself from its host. Black smoke billowed into the air, twisting and turning, and then rocketing into the air. The body collapsed, empty, and Kat rushed forward to catch her. Her hands searched out a pulse in the neck, but there was nothing there. If nothing else, Ruby had been telling the truth about her coma patient.

"Kat, I'm so sorry," said Anna, hurrying forward. "I—I know it was dumb, but I didn't know what else we could do, and…"

"Anna, it's alright. We'll figure it out. But right now we've gotta get inside. I'll take the…body, I guess. Just do me a favor and grab my bag from the trunk. The key to the front door is under one of those bushes, three to the right."

She tossed Anna the car keys, and rolled the corpse into a more acceptable, prone position. With difficulty, she heaved the body over her shoulder in a fireman's carry, and began the stumble toward the house.

Getting the body inside wasn't necessarily the problem. It was more about what to do with it. The cabin was designed for the odd stake out, laying low until a situation passed and it was safe to leave again. It wasn't meant for long-term sustainability. There was no freezer and no bathtub, which meant no way to put the poor girl on ice while she was waiting to get possessed again. The best Kat could do was drop her on a bed and open a window to keep the room cold. She didn't know too much about body decomp, but if her mom's crime shows had taught her anything, it was that Ruby only had a few hours before her host body's muscles seized up and paralyzed her in rigor mortis.

Then again, that might be pretty funny to see.

Body stashed in the bedroom, Kat found that she was still too antsy to sit still. After circling the house three times, she impulsively grabbed a shovel and headed out to the front yard. She'd need to redraw the devil's trap that she'd trashed by ripping the grass out of the ground. The stupid thing had been made of grass, so short of planting more there wasn't any quick fix. The only thing she could think of was ripping up the rest of the grass as well, and making a new devil's trap out of exposed dirt. She had no idea whether or not that would actually work. Everything she'd ever read only said that the lines had to be unbroken, not that they had to be made of anything specific. Worst case she could always push Ruby back in the circle later and see whether or not she could get out again.

The circle was large, so redrawing it with any sort of accuracy took Kat well over an hour. Her arms hurt, and she was covered in dirt, but it was a good feeling. She'd done something, expelled her energy. It was enough work that she could finally sit in a chair without worrying she'd flip a table out of frustration.

She sat down across from Anna, who was poking at a cold bowl of spaghetti o's.

"Sorry there's not a lot to eat," Kat apologized. "Can't exactly keep it stocked with fresh produce."

"I understand. Really, anything is better than hospital food."

"Even cold Chef Boyardee?"

"Even that," said Anna with a soft smile. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Better is not the word I'd use," said Kat, tucking her legs up underneath her on the chair. "But I'm a little less likely to put my fist through a wall now, so that's something."

She nodded, still playing with her food. "Can…Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Back at the church, Sam said that you were right, that you'd figured everything out. I was just wondering…how?"

"Oh, uh…guess it's just about asking the right people the right questions," Kat dismissed.

"Wow. You must be really good at your job."

"Ha, not really. I'm actually really new at my job. I just got there before Sam and Dean could, talked to a few of your classmates, your doctor. I recognized a few of the signs and pieced things together."

"You spoke to Dr. Weisten?" Anna asked. "That's weird. She's usually a real stickler for rules, protocols."

"Well, we sorta told her we were with the sheriff's department, so…"

"So…you lied?"

"I told her I wanted to find you as soon as possible to keep you safe," said Kat firmly. "And that was the truth."

Anna smiled, and hid her face behind her fiery locks. When she looked up next, her cheeks were tinged pink.

"I do have another question. It might seem…kind of personal."

"Okay…?"

"What is he like? Dean?"

Kat laughed, then remembered she should probably try and seem more impartial. She cleared her throat, trying to reign in her amusement.

"Yeah, I'm—I'm probably not the person you want to talk to about that."

"I'm sorry," Anna replied instinctively. "It's just, I've heard so much about him. It's kind of like meeting your favorite storybook character."

"Well, Dean's no fairytale, that's for damn sure." Anna's smile fell, and Kat reluctantly amended, "Most of the time, anyway."

"So…you don't like him?"

"I don't know. Dean's just Dean. Usually he's a dick. He's always looking to pick a fight, he flirts with anything that moves, he's crass as anything, but…I guess he's got a lot on his shoulders. I'm told that's how he copes."

"I see. So, you're closer with Sam?"

Kat laughed bitterly. "Close probably isn't the right word, seeing as he's such a lying sack of shit."

"You're still mad about Ruby," Anna observed.

"It's not just Ruby. Sam's got this real bad habit of lying about anything and everything he can. We've got history so…"

"Romantic history?"

Kat stopped to look at her, and Anna clapped her hands over her mouth.

"I am so sorry. I didn't mean that. That was rude."

"Anna, it's fine," said Kat, softening at her mortified face. "It's not me, um… Sam used to date my sister. Jessica. But it didn't work out."

"Why not?"

"She died. Because of a demon."

Anna lowered her hands into her lap, her eyes dropping solemnly. "I'm sorry. That actually explains a lot."

"Yeah."

"I'm sure Sam didn't mean to hurt you."

"Well, funny thing about that. Sometimes it really isn't the thought that counts."

"Shouldn't that be up to you?"

Kat scratched her nails along the grain of the table. It was up to her, and this was the decision she was making. It had been a crazy few weeks for her—finding Sam, fighting him, forgiving him, fighting again. It was a vicious cycle that never seemed to break. Every time she got comfortable, there was some bigger shoe to drop, something else he'd kept from her or decided she didn't need to know. She was sick of it.

"Now I have a question for you," she said, swinging her legs off the chair and leaning her elbows on the table. "If you don't mind, of course."

"Anything," Anna replied.

"So, aside from the whole angel thing, you can also see demons? Even when they're possessing people?"

"Yes," she said reluctantly. "It's horrible. It's like…like they're made of smoke and fire and just…evil…"

"I'm guessing that's also pretty new?"

"Yes. I only saw one before I went to the hospital. It was just some guy in the campus library. I screamed so loud they had to escort me out. That was when they had me committed."

"So you never saw anything before that?" Kat asked. "Before September?"

Anna shook her head.

"I'd never seen anything like it. But I don't know if that's because I couldn't see them, or just because they weren't around."

"And the angels—you said you hear them all the time, right? Even at the beginning, it was a lot of voices that were hard to tune out?"

"Yes. The first time it happened, it was hours before it was quiet again. I skipped all my classes, told my roommate I had a migraine. It hasn't been that bad since, but…it's difficult. Why? Is that important?"

Kat waved her off, not wanting to alarm her. It wasn't important, not to the case anyway. Finding out when Anna had started seeing demons or how many angels she was eavesdropping on wasn't going to help them identify what was special about her, or why all of this shit was happening to her. But it was something of a comfort to Kat. She didn't see demon faces, and she'd only ever heard one angel talk. She probably hadn't even heard it, in retrospect. She'd been asleep, and dreaming all sorts of messed up shit. It was stupid, and she was overreacting. Like she wanted something more fucked up to happen to her.

A gasp in the other room made both of them jump, and Kat pulled out her gun in a flash. The bedroom door creaked open. Ruby walked out into the main room, looking irritatingly casual, twisting her neck back and forth and shaking off the stiffness in her wrists.

"That was a close one," she complained. "We cannot fuck up like that again. I don't think this body can handle another vacation."

"Dean and Sam?" Anna asked immediately. "Are they alright?"

"Both covered in their own blood, but yeah, they'll be fine. Alastair kicked their asses, but he let them go. Mostly cause he wants to get his hands on you. Can't do that if he breaks his fishing line."

"He's going to follow them again, isn't he?"

"He's gonna try," said Ruby. She sounded remarkably comforting. "But I lent the guys my car for the day, and helped them sneak out the back of their motel. This place is so far out in the goonies, I doubt anyone will be able to keep track of them."

"Thank you, Ruby." Anna mustered up a smile, wrapping her arms around her torso. "Really. You saved our lives."

"Well, we're not out of the woods yet, but you're welcome." Ruby turned to Kat, wearing a taunting smile. "How about you, Barbie? Do I get a thank you now that you let all the steam out of your ears?"

"I can get you an exorcism if you'd like."

"Shit. No need to be so dramatic. Whatever."

"It's not you," Anna said apologetically. "Kat isn't quick to trust. She's had a lot of trouble with demons in the past."

"Yeah. Things I'd rather not talk about _in front of a demon_."

But Anna did not heed her warning.

"Her sister Jessica was killed by one. I'm guessing that's part of the reason Sam lied about it. So it's not personal."

"Actually, it is," Kat snapped. "I just think you're a huge, manipulative bitch."

"Jessica?" Ruby was staring at her, oblivious to the jab. "Like Sam's Jessica?"

"No, like Jessica Simpson."

To Kat's fury, Ruby did not fight back. She sighed, and stuffed her hands in the tiny pockets of her jeans. When she spoke, it was the same comforting tone she had used with Anna.

"I didn't realize you were her sister. Sorry."

"No," Kat laughed derisively. "No, you do not get to say that to me. I'm so sick of people saying that to me. You're not sorry. You are _not_ sorry."

"Maybe not personally, but I get it. Sam told me about what happened."

"Oh, well I'm glad he was _so_ forthcoming with you."

"Look, he lied to you, and it sucks," Ruby said shortly, "but that's not my fault. All I'm saying is that I know what it's like to lose people. It's brutal. Sorry your life went to shit."

"Okay, this—this is the last thing I need to hear right now."

Kat shoved her chair back from the table. She went to storm out of the room, only to circle back and start throwing cabinets open. Anna jumped in her seat, frightened by her vigor, but Kat couldn't bring herself to care. She just kept sifting through the cabinets, grabbed the first large bottle she could find, and stormed out the back door.

She chugged and coughed—gin was shit, even when you weren't guzzling it—then chugged and coughed again. The anger was too much for the alcohol to handle. Gulp after gulp and she couldn't feel herself getting better. She needed to feel better, to feel anything that wasn't this.

Throwing the bottle aside, she charged for the small shed that was sitting in the back. It was more weapons, the overflow of things that were kept in the house, a second tier armory. Kat sifted through the B-list arsenal, grabbing a baseball bat and stamping back into the yard. She swung it against the first tree she saw. It landed with a satisfying smack, leaving an unsatisfying dent in the wood. Pain shot up her arm, her very bones vibrating from the uncalculated effort. She was going to hurt herself. And she didn't care.

Kat stayed out in the yard, swinging the bat again and again until her body couldn't muster it anymore. She slid down against the tree, too far from her bottle but too tired to move. There was nothing else that she could do. She diverted all of her energy to her hands, cupping her face, and willing her anger not to manifest itself as tears.

Fuck this. Fuck it all.


	21. Chapter 21

**TRIGGER WARNING: The Drama™ you've all been waiting for. This chapter contains excessive cursing and angst. The end of this chapter briefly depicts self-harm, as displayed in Supernatural 4x09, "I Know What You Did Last Summer." Please proceed with caution.**

* * *

It was not the Impala that pulled up in front of the cabin. Ruby's getaway car turned out to be a bright orange Mustang. It was too conspicuous for any hunter to consider, which was probably the only reason Sam and Dean had made it out of town without being followed. But they weren't out of trouble. They were walking toward it.

Kat was waiting for them on the stoop when they parked. The gin was at her side, a sure sign of trouble, but she'd left the baseball bat in the back. It wasn't because she wanted to control her damage. She just wanted to do all the damage with her bare hands.

Dean got out of the car first, and planted himself firmly between Kat and his brother.

"Alright, can we—can we just talk about this for a second?"

"No."

Kat got up from her seat, dusting off her hands with dangerous precision. She stepped forward, and Dean moved again, blocking her.

"Just hang on. You're pissed. I get it. I was too. At least give him the chance to explain."

"Explain what? How he's been working with a demon for a year, and it just slipped his mind when he was catching me up to speed? How he dragged me into this shit show on a tip from a demon and didn't think that was something I might want to know?"

Dean didn't have anything to say to that. His face showed his agreement, but he did not move out of her way.

"Did you know?" she asked, stepping toward him. "The whole time?"

His chest deflated in admission. His shirt was torn, soaked in blood from the beat down at the church. His face had several small cuts, along with blossoming bruises. The demon really had left him within an inch of functionality. It was a wonder he could still stand.

Kat nodded. Then she wound up, and punched him directly in the throat.

He sank like a rock, and Kat did not stop to admire it. She stormed forward, reveling in the regret that was written on Sam's face, savoring the sight of him cowered up against the side of the demon's obnoxious fucking car.

"Kat, I'm sorry. I didn't…"

She swung, her first fist meeting tough bicep, her next meeting his shoulder. There was not enough reason in her brain to aim. All she could think to do was punch every inch of Sam that presented itself to her. It did not matter where, it did not matter how. She simply wanted to inflict as much pain on him as possible before he could rat his way out again.

Sam's defense was half-hearted at best. He was either too tired to put up a fight, or too guilty. He held up his arms and let her pummel him, again and again, only blocking her from particularly sensitive areas—his groin, or his face, or the places he was still dripping blood.

"Kat, please," he panted. "Just let me expla—…"

"No! I am so tired of listening to you talk! I'm sick of listening to you beg for forgiveness over and over again! Just stop talking, Sam! Just shut the _fuck_ up!"

She punched, but this time he caught her fist. Unperturbed, Kat kept moving, swinging around to kick him in the leg. He yelped, and stumbled forward, scrambling away from her wrath. It made her heart soar.

"You're right! You're right, I don't deserve it. But I just need you to understand why, okay? It's not as simple as good and bad. You know that."

"No! All I know is that you think it's too complicated for me to understand! Otherwise, you would have told me! You would have been honest! You know what lying tells me, Sam? That you know you're fucking wrong!"

"No! I just—I knew you would need time to understand. And time is something we don't have a lot of right now."

"Oh, please! Save me the sob story."

"Look, what happened to Jess…"

Kat's hand hit him with an almighty slap. The sound reverberated through the woods. It felt loud enough that the demons could have tracked their exact spot just by following the sound of her fury.

"Don't," she hissed, shoving his chest. "Don't you dare say her name."

"Katherine…"

"Not after what you did to her. After everything that happened to her, everything that happened to your mother, you're gonna stand here and tell me that it's okay to trust demons for the greater good?"

"Ruby is not Azazel," Sam insisted. "She's not like other demons."

"Oh my God, do you hear yourself?" Kat cackled. "Are you seriously gonna lead with that right now?"

"She's a defect, Kat! There is so much to the story that you don't know…"

"Wow, I wonder how that happened!"

"…and I promise that I will tell you. But Ruby has proven herself over and over to us. She's died for us. She's been tortured. She's armed us against demons who we never would have been able to take without her help. And she wants the same exact thing we do—to stop Lilith."

"For her personal gain!" Kat yelled back. "She's only in this for some twisted kind of revenge! And that's _if_ she's telling you even a shred of the truth! How long before she gives that up to save her own hide?"

"She is saving herself. By trying to stop the Apocalypse."

"Right, her little Lucifer excuse. Of course you bought that."

"Kat, it makes sense," he pleaded. "So what if self-preservation isn't a noble cause? It's the same bottom line. We save the world."

"On her terms," Kat countered. "With your demon powers."

"No. Ruby never made me do anything I didn't want to do. When I told her I didn't want to use my powers anymore, she got the message. She came to give us the info on Anna anyway. She's here to save her because she wants to help."

"Or because she needs you to believe that."

Sam frowned. He held his hands up and took a deliberate step toward her.

"Look, you're upset—furious," he amended when she laughed, "and I get it. I understand, really. But it's really not as bad as it sounds."

"Oh, it's not? _Really_?"

"Really. I…I know Dean said a lot of crap. But he was just trying to wind you up. This… _thing_ or…whatever I have with Ruby—it isn't that. I am never going to forget your sister, Kat. I loved her, and I still do. This thing with Ruby is nothing like that. I'm not…I don't know. Trying to replace her. I never could."

Kat blinked at him. It was so out of left field, so beyond her realm of comprehension, that it took her several seconds to process what he was trying to tell her. She'd been so caught up in her own betrayal, in the literal sense of what Ruby was rather than who she was. And as she stood there in the middle of the woods, Dean's words from that morning floated back to her.

 _"His girlfriend's not really my type. Ruby's just a different breed."_

The noise that left Kat's mouth was not human. She sprang forward—nails first—acting on blind instinct, a pure desire to kill. Sam was shouting at her, but she couldn't hear him over her own chanting.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKER! YOU'RE FUCKING A DEMON? I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU'RE FUCKING A FUCKING DEMON?"

Kat was wrenched back by a pair of arms around her waist. In the moment she barely noticed, and continued to scratch and kick at the air.

"Sam, go! Now! Go!"

She screamed in fury as Sam ran away from her, disappearing out of her reach and out of her sight. He hid in the house—Marcus's house, her house, with the dumb redhead she'd been dragged out here to save, and his smug ass demon fuck buddy.

"Kat! Kat, just calm down."

"No! He's fucking a demon! He's—I can't—it's a demon! It's a fucking _demon_!"

"I know! I know, but you have to calm down. Come on."

She screeched and kicked, wriggling in Dean's arms, but she couldn't gain any purchase. Overcome with frustration, she heard her shrieks turning to sobs. She couldn't even wipe away the tears in his grip.

"No! No, no, no…"

Kat twisted around in his embrace, pushing against his chest as if she could move right through his if she tried hard enough. But Dean was solid, and he wasn't letting go.

"Kat, stop."

"I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna fucking kill him."

"No, you're not."

"He's—He's fucking a demon, Dean! He's _dating_ a fucking demon!"

"Yeah, and I wasn't crazy about it either. But I'm not Sam, and I can't tell him what to do."

"Oh yeah? Fucking watch me."

"Hey." He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her back a few inches so he could look her in the face. "I just got lectured about this for the past two hours. Sam came clean in—in vivid fucking detail—and even I gotta admit there's stuff Ruby's done that we owe her for."

"I don't care."

"She saved his life, Kat."

"I don't care."

"She stopped him from getting himself killed."

"I don't care."

"Jesus. Fine, you don't care about Sam. Can we at least agree there's bigger things to worry about right now? Anna's in there, she's got demons coming at her on every side, and we got no plan. Let's figure a way out of this, and fight about it later."

"No."

"No?" Dean squinted at her. "What do you mean, no?"

"I mean no," she repeated. Kat took a step back, and Dean's shocked hands fell from her shoulders. "If being on Team Apocalypse means putting aside our differences and shacking up with demons, then I'm out. I'm not doing it. Good luck, Dean."

"Woah, woah, woah. Just hold on now."

He darted around her, abandoning the house to block her way to the Prius. If her muscles weren't still twitching with fury, it might have been funny to watch him scramble around.

"Get out of my way."

"No," he said resolutely. "I'm not gonna let you go out there."

"Yeah, you are."

"No, I'm not! You go out there, you're as good as dead."

"Oh, you're threatening me now? Is Sam gonna sic his girlfriend on me for some payback?"

"Would you stop being such a self-obsessed bitch?"

He could have hit her and it would have shocked her less. Kat stared at him, too offended for her mouth to cooperate. But he relented before she could recover. He ran a hand down his face and took another step closer to her.

"Look, Alastair saw you in that church. And if you want to worry about bad fucking demons, he's the one, okay? He's a nasty motherfucker."

"And we know this how? Because Ruby's got such reliable intel?"

"Because of me. He—I met him in Hell."

That hadn't been the answer she was expecting. Kat stared at him, and for the first time in hours, her anger slipped away. Not entirely, not even mostly, but it was enough for her scream to die in her throat. Dean took advantage of the pause.

"Alastair saw you, and I guarantee he's not gonna forget your face. You go out there now, you've got a target the size of Texas painted on your back."

"Why?" she asked. "I'm not the ringleader here. I don't know anything about this chick."

"And he's not gonna care. All he cares about is hurting people, torturing them for kicks. And you might hate Sam, but if you're in trouble…he's gonna come for you."

Just like that, Kat's anger bolstered.

"Well, tell him to forget it," she spat. "We're all gonna die anyway, right?"

"Kat…"

"Let him kill me. At least I die with my morals intact."

"Come on. You don't mean that."

"Yeah, Dean. I do."

They stood there in silence. It was a feat in itself, given the state of them. Kat's arms were still screaming from her work with the baseball bat. Her hands ached from her misfired punches. Her throat might as well have been bleeding from all the screaming she'd done. And Dean stood across from her, a palette of bruises and blood smears. He looked tired. Kat was too.

"I'm not letting you go out there," he said. "You die, I'm gonna have to hear Sam whine about it for the rest of my life. And I don't need to add your mom to the list of people that wanna kill me."

"I could always kill you first," she suggested. "One last favor."

Dean chuckled. "Sweetheart, you couldn't take me."

"You sure? Cause I've gotta pretty good record going. Pretty sure I'm like, three for four."

"Hey, this does not count. You punched me once, and I let you go."

"Right, right. You fell over in pain because we were tied."

He held up his hands in surrender. Kat was fascinated by the small smile on his face.

"Look, I don't want to say that we need you," he said with a shrug. "But you've spent more time with Anna than any of us. You've been working this case longer, you know this shit inside out, and…you know, despite the shit I give you, you did get it right. So I'm asking you to please stay until we get this girl safe. And then if you don't want to see us again, you don't have to."

Kat raised an eyebrow. "Did you just say please?"

"I'm not saying it again, Tinkerbell."

Their standoff lasted for a few more seconds before Kat dropped her head. She hated Sam with every fiber of her being. She hated Dean too, for what it was worth. And pissed as she was at the whole stupid situation, she didn't want Anna's death on her conscience. Staying wouldn't help—she doubted her presence would do much of anything to change their odds. But if she walked away now, she'd never know how it ended, and she knew she'd never be able to live with herself.

Dean seemed to understand all this without her voicing it, which was good because she didn't want to. He nodded, and clapped her on the back as he walked past her toward the house.

"You gonna behave?"

"Excuse me?" She gaped at him, so furious that she actually laughed. "Oh you're on thin fucking ice, Winchester."

"Can you at least hold off on the exorcisms and homicides? Give your fists a break before you hurt yourself?"

"No promises," she grumbled, and he sighed.

"Well, that's probably the best I'm gonna get."

"You're damn right it is."

She followed him back into the house. Kat had expected thick tension from three people who had been listening to her scream, but the focus was not on her. Anna had collapsed onto the ratty couch, her body wracked with sobs, screaming into Sam's chest. Ruby stood by the door, her arms crossed, and watched them with a conflicted sort of sympathy.

"Parents?" Dean asked her lowly.

Ruby nodded.

This time, Kat's anger stepped away for good. If there was anything she knew the pain of, it was losing your family, a parent. This was the whole reason she had become a hunter. So people like Anna would not have to go through pain like this.

She was about to step up to comfort the girl when Anna sucked in a rattling gasp. She sat up pin straight, her eyes wide in terror, and clutched at her scalp with wild hands.

"They're coming!"

The lights in the cabin flickered overhead. Kat jumped on high alert, grabbing her gun off the table as everyone else moved into position.

"This place got a panic room?" Dean asked, nodding at her.

"Yeah, I got it. Anna, come on."

Kat grabbed Anna's hand and together they rushed down the hallway. They ducked into the bedroom Ruby had been using, Kat slamming the door tight behind them. At a loss, she also stuck a chair in front of the door.

"Don't worry," she said to Anna, who looked positively petrified. "Just help me move the bed. The cabin's pretty well protected, but Marcus built a panic room just in case. No demon's gonna stand a chance."

She leapt forward to pull at the bedframe, but Anna did not follow.

"No, no—it's not the demons," she cried. "It's the angels!"

"Angels?" Kat paused, wheeling around to stare at her. "Isn't that good news?"

Anna whimpered. Her face did not relax.

"Alright, maybe not. Bad news."

Kat changed direction, bolting for the window. The wood was sticky, and it was hard to shove it up enough for them to slip through. As it was, the screeching of the friction might be alerting everyone in the state where they were hiding.

"Anna, please! Help me! Come on!"

Kat moved over so Anna would have room to push. She ran over to join her, but instead of grabbing the windowsill, she punched her fist through the glass. Kat jumped back in shock, and did not recover before Anna picked up a jagged piece and sliced open her forearm.

"Anna, no!"

She jumped forward, but Anna slipped out of her grasp. She headed for the mirror on the wall, winced as she stuck her fingers into her own blood. And then she began to draw—a large circle, symbols that had no meaning, at least not to Kat. She was too horrified to stop her.

When she was done, Anna took a deep breath. She slammed her bloody hand into the middle of the circle.

The effect was immediate. The house seemed to vibrate on its foundation, and on the other side of the door there was a bright flash of light. Kat had to shield her eyes from even the stray rays that crept in through the doorjamb. The air ripped out of the room and rushed back, leaving them both breathless. Anna sank onto the bed, her eyes out of focus.

"Fuck."

Kat scrambled. She ripped the pillowcase off the bed and hurried around to Anna's side. The blood was thick, and it was too dark to guess whether or not Anna had nicked an artery. Kat cursed again, and wrapped the girl's arm as tight as she could.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she asked. "You wanted to make it easier for them?"

"No. I—I think they're gone now."

She would have asked what that meant, but the door slammed open. Dean led the charge into the room, claiming the seat on Anna's other side.

"Anna! Anna, you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine," Kat insisted. "She just punched the window and went ham. I don't know how deep it is."

"Are they—Are they gone?" Anna asked, focusing on Dean.

"Did you kill them?"

"No. I sent them away." Her eyes slipped out of focus again, and her free hand grasped for Dean's. "F-Far away."

"Yeah." He looked from Kat to the bloody mirror, and the back to Anna's pale face. "You wanna tell me how?"

"It just popped into my head. I don't know how I did it. I just did it."

There was a quiet moment of shock, broken by Ruby's careless scoff. "Well that's super comforting."

"It's gonna be the least of our worries if we don't get her patched up," said Sam. "Kat, is there…?"

"Bathroom," she answered. "Under the sink."

"On it," said Ruby, and disappeared down the hallway.

"I'm sorry," Anna said weakly. "I was so scared and I just…"

"You should probably stop apologizing," Kat offered. "Especially when you don't need to."

"Hey, you saved our asses here," said Dean bracingly. "For real."

"But your face…"

"This? Psh, I've had worse. Hell, I've had worse just from Kat."

"Oh, now you're complimenting me?"

"Don't get used to it." He rolled his eyes, and squeezed Anna's hand gently. "You did good here. So thanks."

The blood that hadn't seeped out of Anna's arm rushed to her cheeks as she blushed. Kat would have cringed in disgust if she wasn't so concerned about Anna's potential hemorrhaging.

Ruby came back into the bedroom, replacing Dean at Anna's side. She nodded silently to Sam, and both of the boys slipped out into the main room, closing the door behind them.

"How bad is it?" she asked Kat.

She almost didn't reply out of spite, but Anna was looking to her for an answer.

"It's not great," she answered carefully. "I'd feel a lot better if we stitched you up. Is that okay?"

Anna nodded, and Kat gave her a supportive smile. She turned to the first aid kit, then stopped. There was no way she could open and thread a needle while keeping the pressure on Anna's arm. She could ask Anna to hold down the pillowcase, but judging by her hazy eyes, she was in no condition to be taking care of herself. If Kat moved, she'd be in danger of serious blood loss.

Ruby pursed her lips, and flicked the lid of the kit open. "What do you need me to do?"

"I don't need you to do anything," Kat said stubbornly.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't know you could grow two extra arms."

"Look, my mom's a nurse, okay? I know what I'm doing. I can handle this."

"Not without help you can't."

Kat glared at the thread inside of the case. Maybe if she willed herself enough, the thread would just move on its own. It did not.

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere, like it or not," Ruby huffed. "At least let me be useful."

It was the last thing Kat wanted to do. But with Anna's gentle eyes watching her every move, she gave in.

"Fine. Switch with me."

She waited until Ruby had crossed over and placed her hands on Anna's arm before she moved. She wiped her hands down with anesthetic, then sifted through the bag as fast as she could, finding the correct needle and threading it with practiced accuracy. At least there was something she still had control over.

"Alright, when I say go, move the fabric off the bottom of the wound. You have to keep pressure on it, to restrict the blood flow. But not too much pressure, or the skin will pull and I won't get an even stitch."

"I got it. Just go."

"Fine." Kat huffed, and turned to look at Anna. "This isn't going to be fun."

"Any worse than cutting open your own arm?" she asked optimistically.

"Yes," Kat deadpanned. "Cause it's gonna take longer."

Anna shuddered, but gulped away her fear.

"Okay. I'm ready."

Kat and Ruby shared a doubtful look. Then Kat nodded, and sunk the needle through the skin.

To her credit, Anna was a good patient. Her display with the blood magic had taken so much out of her that she didn't have a lot of energy to fight. She winced and whimpered every now and then, but between Ruby's grip on her arm and Kat's fast hands, they finished the stitches in just a couple of minutes.

"There should be some aspirin in the case for the pain," Kat advised, wiping her hands off with another towel.

"Thank you," said Anna. "Both of you."

"Yeah, just don't die on us," said Ruby. She wrinkled her nose at her bloodstained hands. "I'll be in the bathroom if anyone needs me."

She brushed past Kat and out into the hall. Without her presence, the room immediately seemed more palatable.

Kat would've been lying if she said she didn't feel accomplished. Sure, either one of the boys could have stitched Anna up, probably faster than Kat did, but they had "bigger problems" to worry about. It was a relief to be able to do something, something she knew how to do. She doubted that opportunity would present itself again over the next few days.

A knock on the door made her and Anna both look up, and Dean stuck his head into the room.

"How you feeling?" he asked, with a charming smile.

"Better," said Anna, with a smile. "Kat stitched me up, so I'm ready to go."

"Well, let's not get hasty. You should take it easy. You lost a lot of blood. Kat and I are gonna grab a few things, and then we'll hit the road."

He jerked his head toward the door, gesturing for Kat to follow him into the other room. She did so reluctantly, handing Anna a non-bloodstained pillow before she left.

If Dean thought she was ready for a group pow-wow, he had another thing coming. She blew right past him when he stopped next to Sam, and walked straight back into the yard. She knew he was grumbling behind her, offering Sam some half-hearted reassurance. It was all bullshit anyway. She leaned up against a tree, and waited impatiently for him to join her.

He took his sweet time ambling out onto the lawn. He looked around casually, taking in the sights, smiling obliviously as he leaned on the tree next to hers.

"It's a nice place you got," he offered, nodding back at the house. "Marcus's?"

"Yeah."

"Why's he got a safe house all the way out here? Didn't you say he lives in Vegas?"

"Lived."

Dean winced, and did not push the subject.

"Look, the panic room is great and all, but we can't stay here. 'Specially now that the angels know where we're at. I'm thinking we should move her to Bobby's, back up in South Dakota."

"Isn't that a little predictable?" she asked dryly.

"Maybe. But Bobby's got an arsenal of a library, assload of contacts. Figure we're better off taking her there than blowing through all your safe houses every time we get caught."

"I'm touched."

"Don't be. You feel up to driving?"

"Do I look like a damn taxi service to you?"

"Maybe if this was a porno."

Kat glowered at him, and he raised his hands.

"It's just gonna be the three of us—you, me and Anna. Sam's gonna stay behind and dig up a little more dirt on her."

"Why?" she asked, furrowing her brow.

"Angels said some fishy stuff about her," he sighed. "Something about how she's not all that innocent, that she's worse than a demon herself. They really want her head on a platter. And I mean, all the stuff she can do? Talk to angels, see demons, fancy blood magic without any explanation? Even you gotta admit that's a lot to unpack."

"Yeah. No, I agree."

"Well, ain't that a Christmas miracle."

"Shut up. What about the demon?"

"Far away from you," said Dean. "She's gonna stick around with Sam, least til he can grab the Impala. Then she'll meet up with us at Bobby's."

"Super."

"Look, are you good, or do I have to steal your car again?"

"You touch my car again, I'll rip your goddamn lungs out."

"Spoken like a true driver," he said nodding appreciatively. "Too bad your car sucks ass."

Kat glared, but bit back her comment. "When are we leaving?"

"Soon as you want. Figured I'd give you the chance to raid the closets for anything you wanna grab."

"Like what?"

"I don't know," he said with a shrug. "Marcus seems like a pretty prepared guy. Way I see it, if he's not around all this stuff is yours. Going into battle, you might wanna take this opportunity to stock up the shop in your trunk."

He walked into the house, leaving her outside with her thoughts.

Kat stared at the cabin hollowly. She knew that on some level, Dean was right. If Marcus was still around, he would've given her hell for walking around so unprepared—if he hadn't already killed her for getting involved in the first place. She didn't want to move his things, to touch what wasn't hers. Even the things she'd taken from his house were still sitting in boxes in her room, a shotty little shrine to her mentor.

But Marcus wasn't around, and he was the last person to be sentimental about it. If there was any time to pilfer someone else's stuff, it was now.

She grabbed her keys off the table, backing her Prius up to the house and propping the trunk open. There would be time to organize it later. For now, she was simply going to dump everything that looked useful into the car for safe keeping.

Kat kicked open the closet, pushing aside torn, discarded jackets to get at the main weapons' box inside. It was time to get to work.

At the start, she'd had the basic hunter's starter kick—one shot gun, two handguns, a silver blade and an iron one, one machete, a rope, some rock salt, her fake IDs, and her water gun. After raiding the house, her inventory doubled. She'd now added two more shot guns, both sawed-off, another pistol, more bullets than she hoped to use in the next six months, a case of empty rounds, two jugs of holy water, a gallon of gasoline, a bronze knife, a gold knife, two new sets of lock picks, a pocketknife, and a roll of wooden stakes, some of which were dipped in blood or other liquids she wouldn't have wanted to ask about.

Kat smiled down at her car. She tossed a few of Marcus's old notebooks on top. It was a good haul. Marcus would have been proud—or supremely pissed off.

"That's a pretty serious load for a hatchback."

Her smile fell, and she looked up as Sam walked out of the house. She averted her eyes, and slammed the trunk closed.

"Yeah, well. Good thing cops don't stop for a Prius."

She made a beeline for the driver's seat, unsurprised when Sam stepped into her way.

"Hey, are—are we gonna talk about this?"

"We're not."

"Kat, please…"

She refused to look up at him. She glared a hole into his chest, and held a hand up to his face. There was so much more that she wanted to say, but there was no way to put it into words. She knew that he wanted to talk things out, that everything made sense to him in his head, even if it wasn't right to everybody else. He'd found some way to explain himself to Dean, though. Anna had been right to say that Dean wouldn't work with Ruby if he didn't have to. And if Dean was asking her to go along with it, that should have scared her shitless enough to comply.

So she'd ride along in silence. But she wasn't going to be happy about it. She wasn't going to forgive and forget. She wasn't sure she ever would.

It would have been helpful if she could say this to Sam. But Kat was sure if she opened her mouth, all that was going to come out was more curses and tired mantras. So she just pushed Sam to the side and climbed into the driver's seat, shutting the door in his big puppy face. It was the most civil thing she had the energy to do.


	22. Chapter 22

During her brief stay at Bobby Singer's house, Kat had done a decent amount of exploring. She'd combed through every closet, looked under every bed, and leafed through enough books that her eyes had gone out of focus. But the one place she hadn't scanned top to bottom was the basement.

She could have guessed that it was a panic room. The giant metal door and the devil's trap on the ground were a dead giveaway. But she wasn't about to mess with something like that when she was in a hurry. At the time, Kat had nodded her approval of Bobby's defenses, and kept on walking. Now, she had a chance to really get a look at it.

The walls were made of iron. Where Bobby could have gotten that much material, she had no idea. But the place was solid—wards across the floor, a pentagram set into the vent in the ceiling, lore books and weapons and supplies along the walls. There was a desk, a cot, an armchair—even a poster of some swimsuit model on tacked up over the bed. Clearly, Bobby had been prepared to bunker down for the long haul.

"I hate to admit it, but this is a hell of a lot safer than the cabin," Kat observed, rapping her knuckles against the wall. "No one's getting at you in here."

Anna nodded from the armchair, but did not reply. She'd been quiet the whole ride up from Ohio. It wasn't exactly a surprise. Her parents had just died, and Anna had tapped into a whole new level of her powers without any idea what she was doing. The girl was shaken.

"Hey," Kat said softly, taking a step closer to her. "I don't want to smother you. Do you want me to give you some space, or would you rather have company?"

Anna lifted her head in surprise, though it quickly gave way to gratitude.

"I…I didn't think I'd be allowed to be on my own."

"Like I said, I doubt anything's getting to you in here. And…well, I know how much it hurts to lose someone. You're in good company."

"Thank you, Kat." She tugged her legs closer to her chest, tucking her chin into her knees. "I think I could use some time to myself. If that's alright."

"Say no more." Kat backed out of the room, hopping over the devil's trap on the ground. "I'm gonna leave this open in case you change your mind. If you need anything, you can just call for us. But you should probably stay in here for now."

Anna nodded her understanding, then turned back to stare at the wall. Kat didn't want to leave her to suffer alone, but as a long-time sufferer, she knew that sometimes that's exactly what you needed to do.

Kat walked back upstairs, where Dean was standing in the living room. Their bags had been dropped on the floor in the corner, a pile of blankets dropped unceremoniously on top.

Dean looked up when she walked in.

"No sign of Bobby?" she asked, crossing her arms idly.

"Nah, no idea. Coulda just popped out, but he usually doesn't leave his place this clean."

Kat had to agree with him there. All the bottles and papers that had littered the floor last she was here had vanished. The books were stacked more neatly and the weapons had been moved out from the open. Clearly, there'd been some conscious effort to tidy things up.

"How's Anna?" asked Dean, nodding toward the stairs.

"As good as she can be, considering her family's dead and everyone in Heaven and Hell wants her to join them."

"So everything sucks and she's having a breakdown."

"Yeah, sounds about right." Kat leaned back on the wall to the kitchen, considering him. "What about you? How you feeling?"

"Me?" he asked. "I'm not the one who drove for nine hours."

"No I mean..."

She gestured vaguely at her face. Dean mimicked her motions, cursing lowly as he hit himself on the nose.

"Ah, that's nothing," he winced. "Angels just roughed me up a bit."

"Yeah, after that demon kicked the shit out of you. Looks like Castiel packs a punch."

"Nah, this was Uriel. Son of a bitch really enjoyed it too."

He stretched his face experimentally, but it still looked like he was in a decent amount of pain.

Making a snap decision, Kat turned around and walked into the kitchen. She grabbed one of the chairs from the table and pulled it out, spinning it on the spot so that the seat faced Dean.

Dean just looked at her suspiciously.

"Oh come on," she huffed. "I'm not gonna bite you. And if you make a sex joke about that, this chair _will_ collide with your face."

"Alright, alright. Don't blow a gasket."

He sat down in the chair, still moving cautiously. It could have been from the pain as much as his distrust.

Kat turned her back on him, poking around the freezer and producing an ice pack from the back. She also grabbed two beers, which she passed to Dean, and then ducked out of the kitchen. When she returned, it was with the first aid kit Bobby kept under the television stand.

"We're playing doctor?" he asked, with a mischievous smile. "Damn, what did I do to deserve that?"

"You're really not funny."

She dropped the kit in his lap and snatched the beer out of his hand. Then she kicked back in her own chair and looked out the window. She did her best not to look at him, but she could still hear the smirk in his voice when he spoke.

"Do I wanna know how you found all this?"

"Hey, you were the one who left me locked up here a few weeks ago. I did all the recon I could before hunting your ass down."

"Yeah," Dean chuckled, holding the ice pack up to his shoulder. "Bobby was not thrilled about that chair when he got home."

"Well you didn't leave me with a lot of options."

"Oh no, not mad at you. It was me he was pissed at. Made him drill the thing into the floor to make it extra hard on you. I figured you'd pick the locks, not kick the chair to pieces."

"And I've still got the bruises to prove it," Kat said with a bitter smile.

She sipped quietly on her beer, the only sound Dean's rustling in the first aid kit. There wasn't much that could be done for the swelling in bruising, especially so many hours out, but he managed to find a few discrete bandages for the back of his head, and some numbing gel for the slice of the inside of his mouth.

It was a while before either of them spoke.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Kat's jaw clenched at the words, and she stared steadily at the wall.

"About as much as you wanna talk about your meet and greet with Alastair."

"Alright then."

They returned to silence, but she could feel him watching her. Eventually irritation pushed her over the edge.

"There's nothing to talk about," she said, taking a harsh swig from the bottle. "He's moved on from Jessica, and now he's screwing a demon and lying about it. I really don't know how you expect me to come to terms with that."

Dean nodded. They both knew that she was right. Dean might have been ever forgiving because Sam was his brother, but Kat didn't have that luxury. She didn't have to defend him. She could walk away from the whole thing whenever she wanted. Maybe she would, if this ever blew over.

"You know," Dean said lowly, "when we first left Stanford, Sam was a wreck. I was…I was really worried about him for a while, you know? He barely slept. When he did he had nightmares—Mom, Jess, you, the whole gang. He threw himself into the job, and for a while I was so glad to have him back that…I just didn't see he was doing to it cope. To try to anyway. Because the only way he could live with himself was if he saved every person we crossed, and killed the demon that killed Jess.

"Even then it was months before he even looked at another girl. The first chick he sorta liked turned out to be a demon, so you know, that went real well. She tried to kill us. And the next one—Sarah, I think. You woulda liked her. Really stuck it to him until he told her the truth. She held her own, but you know how it is. Case is over, you gotta keep moving. And after that…we caught this werewolf case in San Francisco. Sam was on witness protection and—damn he fell for this chick head over heels. I think he still watches the stupid soap she got him hooked on. And forty-two hours later he had to look her in the eyes, and put a silver bullet in her head."

Kat winced involuntarily. She didn't dare look at Dean, who she knew was still watching her.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because Sam won't. He doesn't want to make excuses for himself, because he still blames himself for Jess's death. And he's never gonna love anyone the way he loved her. But he's been through a lot. I want you to know that."

"Look, I'm sorry your brother's been through the mill—really—but none of that makes this okay. It doesn't mean he gets to do whatever he wants and lie to me about it. His shitty decisions affect the rest of us, especially considering we're talking about the goddamn Apocalypse."

"I get that," he said calmly. "And you don't have to be cool working with a demon. Hell, I'm not even sure I'm cool with it. All I know is that Ruby kept my brother from offing himself when I was in Hell, and I've gotta respect that."

"Yeah, well _your_ little brother is still breathing."

"Kat," Dean sighed, an unspoken understanding. "Ruby's not the one who killed your sister."

"I know. I know that."

She pursed her lips. It wasn't her anger, much as she would have loved that. But the anger was starting to give way to sadness, for herself, for her sister. And she did not want to be seen like that.

"Okay, well that's enough talking for me." Dean got up abruptly. He was still holding the ice pack on his shoulder, and grabbed his beer off the table. He pointed it at her in question. "You good?"

"Yeah. I'm good."

"Good. Well, I'm gonna call Bobby. Find out where that bastard is."

He flipped the first aid kit closed, and was halfway out the front door when Kat cleared her throat.

"You're good at it, you know? Talking."

Dean narrowed his eyes at her. "Never say anything like that to me again."

"Right." In spite of herself, Kat smiled. "You got it, Tinkerbell."

"Hey, you're…you're Tinkerbell, Tinkerbell."

He huffed in frustration, and disappeared out the front door.

Kat finished off her beer, and forced herself out of her chair. She couldn't sit around and think about shit like this. It was too depressing, and gave her too much to worry about. If was going to see this through, she had to keep herself busy.

Much like the last time she'd visited, there wasn't much in the kitchen. Wherever Bobby was, he certainly wasn't worried about keeping the house stocked. She pushed things around in the cabinets, and found an acceptable looking can of soup. She heated it up on the stove, and used the interim time to look for some semblance of crackers. There were none.

Tucking a water bottle under each arm, Kat awkwardly picked her way downstairs with two bowls. She kicked the door with her heel by way of knocking.

"Hungry?"

Kat stepped over the threshold, nearly tripping herself when one of the bottles threatened to fall from under her arm. Anna jumped out of her seat and rushed over to help her.

"Oh! You—You didn't have to do this."

"Anna, we pretty much kidnapped you. Feeding you is the least we can do."

"You didn't," Anna scolded. She took one of the bowls, waiting until Kat was steady to continue, "You saved me. And I'm hiding in the basement."

"Well, if you want to get technical, we're stashing you here. But let's call it even."

They sat down against the wall, Anna resuming her seat in the armchair while Kat tucked herself on the cot. They did not speak as they ate. It wasn't all that different from drinking in silence, but at least now Kat wasn't alone. With Anna in the room, even quietly, her thoughts were a little less morbid. She had a job to do, people to protect, and damn if she wasn't good at it.

Kat refrained from starting a conversation to give Anna the space that she wanted. But as her spoon scraped the bottom of her bowl, Anna's voice broke the silence.

"Does it get easier?"

Kat looked over at her, noticing how small she looked with her legs up on the chair. She didn't need clarification.

"Do you want the easy answer or the real one?"

"Real. Please."

"Not really." Kat put her bowl aside and leaned her back against the wall. "The day to day does, I guess, if you find something to do with yourself. I work a lot, so I don't have to think about it. I'm only three years out though, so in the long run who knows? Maybe it really is all peace and happy memories."

"I'm sorry," Anna said again. "The way you talk about her, I thought it must have been more than a few years ago."

"It's been a rough time. Jess died, and then my dad did a couple months after that. My mentor a couple weeks ago. And you don't have to apologize," she said, hearing Anna take a breath. "That's just the way it is. It's the job. Sam and Dean lost both their parents. They've lost each other—more than once if they're telling the truth. So that's what I meant earlier. We know how it feels, and you're not alone."

"I can't tell you how much that means to me," Anna said softly. "Really, Kat. And…if it's any consolation, I think your sister would be proud of you."

"Yeah, I'm not so sure."

Kat stared down into her bowl, playing with the dwindling pool of broth. It was stupid to wonder what Jessica would think. She was gone, and that's all that mattered. But it was a question that plagued her every night before she went to sleep. Would she side with Kat for condemning people's faults? Or would she be the way she was in life—ever-forgiving, despite the consequence? What would she ask Kat to do in her place?

A bang echoed on the open door, and the women looked up to see Ruby just outside. She had to stretch to reach the doorway without stepping in the devil's trap. Even then, she had to kick instead of knocking.

"Bad time?" she asked.

"Yeah," Kat sniffed. "Pretty much always a bad time."

She did not say anything else, much as it pained her. She wasn't sure that Dean was right, per se, or that Jess wouldn't have slapped this demonic bitch all the way back to Hell, but Anna was the top priority. She could be civil for the sake of the case. At least, she could try for a few days until she burned out from the effort.

"How are you feeling?" Anna asked Ruby.

"Fine," she answered, unconcerned. "We heal pretty quick. How's your arm?"

"Better. You and Kat really did a good job. So thank you. I know that…this isn't the most comfortable situation for everyone, but I appreciate it."

Ruby met Kat's eyes, looking similarly unimpressed. At least there was something they could agree on.

"Yeah, well don't go handing out good Samaritan awards just yet," Kat sighed. "We still have to find a way out of this mess."

"The good news is it doesn't look like we were followed," said Ruby. "Hiding out at their adoptive dad's house isn't the most covert option, but we should have a day or two at least."

"Someone's bound to come looking here eventually," Kat agreed.

The stairs creaked as Dean jogged down to join them. He held up a warning finger, looking uncharacteristically stern.

"Hey, both of you be cool. I don't want any catfights—unless they're hot."

Their combined glares should have killed him on the spot.

"Did you find Bobby?" Kat asked.

"Yeah," he said, stepping into the room with her. "Get this—he's in the Dominican."

"For real?" Kat wrinkled her nose. "Why? Bucket list vacation?"

"Beats me. Long distance was hiking up the phone bill."

"Right, cause you actually pay your phone bill."

"It's the principle of the thing, alright? Anyway he wasn't much help. Said we had the place to ourselves and he'd already sent you everything he had."

"Which is nothing that's gonna help us here," Kat finished glumly. "Great."

"Figured as much. Told me to say hi. Didn't realize you two had gotten so chummy swapping notes."

"I guess I do spend a lot of time on the phone with him. I don't know how to read his handwriting, and he doesn't know how to rotate a PDF file. It's a lot nicer than talking to you idiots."

"Yeah, well I lied and told him you were doing great. More to the point," Dean continued, turning to Anna, "how are you holding up?"

"I'm alright." She glanced sideways at Kat, and attempted a smile. "Better than I was before."

"Well, better sounds great to me."

"Yeah, it's fantastic," Ruby scoffed. "We've got a load of dead ends and maybe forty-eight hours before someone comes looking for us. Spectacular."

"Hey, nothing's gonna get Anna in here," Dean defended. He knocked on the wall with a proud smile. "Iron walls drenched in salt. Demons can't even touch the joint."

"Which I find racist, by the way," Ruby bit from the doorway.

"Write your congressman."

"Alright, so we're fine on the demon front," Kat interrupted, "but I don't think salt and iron's gonna do too much against the angels. Do we know how much time that sigil bought us?"

"No idea," said Anna, shaking her head. "I've never seen it before, let alone used it. But it felt powerful. It's like—I could feel them being pushed away from us. It's gonna take a lot of energy for them to get back."

"Unless they send some different foot soldiers," Dean observed.

"Well, then I guess it's a good thing I made these."

Ruby reached into her pocket, pulling out several small brown bags. She tossed them to Dean one at a time, who caught them with a suspicious gaze.

"Hex bags?"

"Extra crunchy," she confirmed. "Hide us from angels, demons, all comers."

Dean weighed the bag in his hands, considering her. Then reluctantly, he nodded.

"Thanks, Ruby."

This seemed to shock her as much as it did everyone else, but Dean turned his back before she had the chance to comment. He pocketed one of the bags, and handed another to Kat. She stared at it with disdain, not wanting to touch it. Dean sighed, and brandished it in her face, but she still didn't move.

"Where's a demon get off making hex bags?" she asked, looking at Ruby around Dean's side.

Ruby didn't seem put off by the question.

"How'd you think I got to be a demon?" she asked. "I told you I still remember being human. Witchcraft is a stepping stone for a lot of us. How I landed myself in Hell to begin with."

"Huh. Guess you're right, Dean. Witches are bitches."

Dean was able to smile, but only because he had his back to Ruby. She rolled her eyes.

"Look, even if I was evil, where would I get off giving you a cursed hex bag here? I couldn't grab Anna even if I wanted to, and if you dropped dead she would never come out."

Kat mulled that over. Grudgingly, she took the bag from Dean. She did her best not to think about what was inside to make it "extra crunchy."

"Don't lose this," said Dean, moving over to Anna to pass her her own bag. "So, Anna, what's playing on angel radio? Anything useful?"

"It's quiet," she answered. "Dead silence."

Dean frowned, exchanging a worried look with Kat.

"Good. That's not troubling at all."

"We're in trouble, huh?" Anna asked. "You guys are scared?"

Another glance went around the room—Dean, Ruby and Kat all looking to each other for the best way to answer. Anna had chosen the truth over ease before, but Kat didn't see any good in revealing just how royally fucked they were. It was nice to have someone optimistic around for a change.

Dean must have thought the same thing.

"Nah," he said, shaking his head with a grin.

 _"Hey, Dean!"_

Sam's voice echoed from upstairs, putting an end to their positive lying. Kat grew stony immediately, and Dean looked at her questioningly.

"We're fine here," she assured him. "Go ahead."

"Alright. You two just stay here."

"Oh, and Dean?" He stopped, and Kat pushed their empty soup bowls into his hands. "Thanks a bunch."

"Of course," he said snidely. "Happy to be of service."

He hopped out the door, stopping briefly to whisper something to Ruby before he continued on upstairs to meet his brother.

It was almost amusing to watch Anna's longing face as he left.

"Don't worry," said Kat. "He'll be back."

"Oh, no I…" Anna flushed, and pulled her legs tighter against her chest. "I didn't mean to…"

"It's fine. You wouldn't be the first."

"Seriously?" Ruby asked from the doorway. "Five seconds alone and we're resorting to sleepover gossip? Gag me."

"Don't tempt me," bit Kat.

"Where was Sam anyway?" asked Anna, desperately changing the subject. "Why didn't he come back with us?"

"Probably cause Kat would've killed him," Ruby jabbed.

"Also he had to get the car," Kat answered. "And I think he wanted to get a little more information about you."

"Me? But I already told you everything I know."

"Yeah, but…" Kat hesitated. "Uh, I guess he just wanted to be thorough. See if there was anything we might have missed or that—that wouldn't seem important enough for you to mention if you didn't know the truth or…"

"Or that I lied about."

Anna's voice was flat as she stared at her. Kat quickly looked away. This was not a conversation she wanted to get into. Somehow, she hadn't expected Anna to get so up in arms about their investigation after her endless thank you's and apologies. But after the day she'd had, it was understandable that she'd have strong feelings about being lied to. Kat could relate to that.

"Kat," Ruby warned. "Don't."

"Don't what?" Anna demanded. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Kat…"

"The angels just said a few things about you," Kat admitted. "Things that made us wonder whether or not we'd gotten the whole story."

"Why would I keep something from you? After all of this?"

"I don't think you would. But it's possible that you don't remember it, or it doesn't seem important to you. With everything that's happened, everything you can do—power like that doesn't come from out of the blue."

"So what?" she snapped. "That means you get to go rooting around in my life without permission instead of asking me?"

"No, Anna, of course not. It just…"

But Anna was already out of her seat. She deliberately stepped over the devil's trap and stormed up the stairs to the ground level.

"Good job," Ruby said with a sneer. "Really tactful."

"Shut the fuck up."

Kat blew past her, running up the stairs after Anna. She caught up with her just outside the library, where Sam and Dean were conferring over an open file.

"Why don't you just ask me to my face?"

The boys looked up in surprise. Dean groaned when he saw them, glaring at Ruby as she brought up the rear. "I thought I told you to watch them."

"I'm watching them! It's Kat's fault."

"No, you're right Anna," said Sam calmly. "Is there anything you want to tell us?"

"About what?"

"The angels said you were guilty of something. Why would they say that?"

"You tell me," she pleaded. "Tell me why my life has been levelled, why my parents are dead. I don't know. I swear. I would give anything to know."

Kat sighed, reaching forward gently to place a hand on Anna's shoulder. It wasn't much of a comfort, but Anna didn't shirk away from the touch either.

Sam nodded thoughtfully.

"Okay. Then let's find out."

"How?" Anna asked.

"Yeah, how?" Dean echoed. "I mean, if Anna don't remember and the medical records aren't telling us anything…"

"I was thinking about that on the way over," said Sam. "A lot of times, especially with kids, painful memories get buried or locked away. It's the only way the mind has to cope—to just forget about it."

"Repressing your feelings at an early age," Kat offered. "Healthy."

"Maybe not, but if it helps you keep living, that's what you've gotta do, right? So all we need to do is get at the part of Anna's brain that she learned to keep on lockdown. That part that therapy taught her to lock away."

"With what? Like hypnosis?" asked Ruby. "I don't know about you Sam, but that's not one of my specialties."

"Me either. And I don't know any hypnotists, but…we do know a psychic."

This information only seemed to mean something to Dean, who looked more reluctant than anything else.

"Pamela?" he asked. "You really think she's gonna be down to help us? After last time?"

"Can't hurt to ask."

"Have you seen that woman? It could hurt, Sam. It could hurt a lot."

"Well what other choice do we have, Dean? We're running low on options."

"And time," Ruby supplied. "Clock's ticking, guys."

Dean huffed, and threw up his hands. "Fine. Fine, I'll go try Pamela, and the four of you stay here. See if you can't think of anything to buy us some time."

"I'm coming with you," said Anna, taking a step forward.

"Absolutely not," Kat said immediately. "You stay here where you're safe."

"Ruby made us the hex bags," Anna argued, holding up the pouch. "I'll be fine."

"It just stops people from finding you if they're looking," said Ruby, shaking her head. "That doesn't mean they can't find you on accident, and it's not gonna stop anyone from snapping your neck."

Kat walked around Anna and planted herself between her and Dean. "Like I said. You stay here."

Anna did not look at all pleased with this option, but she didn't fight them on it. Dean offered her a supportive smile.

"Hey, not all bad, right? Order some pizza, you and Kat can bunk in the panic room. We'll get Ruby a sleeping bag for the basement. Good old fashioned sleepover."

At this point, it was getting hard to tell who was more annoyed with him. Kat was reaching her breaking point, and was sure she'd start swinging with one more wisecrack, but Ruby also looked like she was getting pretty murderous. Even Anna did not seem soothed by his casual joking.

"Uh, Dean…" Sam suggested.

"Yeah, I'm out. Just everyone behave while I'm gone. No murders, no exorcisms, no hanky panky."

He patted Kat on the back and then split, gone before he could deal with the blowback of his statement.

It left Kat standing there with Anna, Ruby and Sam, each one of them looking more uncomfortable in their situation than the last.

Kat wasn't too proud to run from her problems.

"Come on," she said, wrapping an arm around Anna's shoulders. "Let's get you downstairs."


	23. Chapter 23

**TRIGGER WARNING: The end of this chapter deals with themes of physical and sexual abuse. Please proceed with caution.**

* * *

 _"What did you just say to me?"_

"Mom, I told you. I'm fine."

 _"Demons? You're running from—how many of them are there? What do they want? How the hell did you get pulled into a case with demons?"_

"It's…complicated."

 _"Katherine Diana, you better find a way to uncomplicate it right now."_

Kat sighed into the phone, leaning her forehead on the window pane. "Look, you're the one who wanted me to hunt with the Winchesters. This is what that means."

 _"Don't you dare twist my words like that. I told you I wanted you to have reliable back up on your cases, not to go running off on some suicide mission!"_

"It's not a suicide mission," Kat said, knowing full well that she might be lying. "It's like…witness protection. Only we don't know what the demons want with Anna. Just that we have to keep her safe."

 _"So buy her a plane ticket and come home!"_

"It's not that simple, Mom."

 _"Well, why not?"_

Kat covered up the receiver, and banged her head against the windowsill. This was going worse than she'd imagined. She'd only called to quickly check in. It had been nearly five days since she'd spoken to her mom, and the texts were becoming ridiculous. But without explaining the full extent of the situation, it was hard to hold her ground. On the flipside, she knew if she tried to explain the full extent of the apocalypse over the phone, her mother would probably have a heart attack. It was a lose-lose situation.

"It's just not, Mom," she sighed. "I promise I'm being careful. We all are."

 _"Where are you?"_

"You know I can't tell you that."

 _"Why not? Because some demon might be wire-tapping the phones? If they were that smart couldn't they just trace the call?"_

"Actually that's a great point. Maybe I should just hang up."

 _"Katherine, don't you dare."_

"I know, Mom." Kat smiled weakly. "Actually I'm more worried about you taking a flight out here and handing my ass to me."

 _"Well at least I know you've got your priorities straight."_

"Come on, you can't follow me out here. They need you at the gym."

 _"No, Katherine, they need you at the gym. It's your business, and Harley can only do so much."_

"Nah, she can handle herself. She's young, but she's probably the most competent person I've got on staff."

 _"She's going to be angry you're not home, you know. You should call her."_

"I know I should. I'm dreading that almost as much as I'm dreading the demons."

Outside the window, a sleek black car pulled into the salvage yard. The heavy thumping of bass guitar cut out with the rumbling sound of the engine.

"Alright, I really have to go, Mom."

 _"It better not be five days before I hear from you, young lady."_

"I know. I'm sorry. Things have just been a little crazy."

 _"It sounds like it. But when I call you tomorrow morning, I want you to pick up, alright? It's not the same when I have to leave a voicemail."_

"Yeah, you got it. I love you, Mom."

 _"I love you too, Kat. Please, please, please, just...stay safe."_

Kat ended the call on her cell phone. She didn't like lying, especially since she'd spent the last three days bitching about how she hated being lied to. But she continued to tell herself that the situation with her mother was different. It was better this way, and she'd be safer.

The front door opened, and Kat walked through the library to meet Dean in the hall. "Hey, how'd it go?"

"Morning," he said nodding to her. "Where is everybody?"

"Basement, keeping Anna company. I just got off the phone with my mom."

"Bet that went real well."

"Yeah, no kidding."

"Hey, Dean-o? You gonna let me in the house or are we gonna do this on the porch?"

"Sorry, sorry, Pamela."

Dean stepped to the side, offering his hand to the woman standing outside the door. She was just slightly taller than Kat, though it might have been because of the rocker boots she was wearing, which clicked as she walked. She had dark, thick hair, which fell in curls around her even darker sunglasses. Kat realized at once that they must not be for seeing eyes.

"Kat, this is Pamela Barnes, good friend of Bobby's," Dean introduced, helping the woman forward. "Pamela, this is Katherine Moore, not so good friend of Sam's."

"You're funny," Pamela chuckled, sticking out her hand. "Nice to meet you, Katherine."

"Kat, please. Nice to meet you too."

Kat took her outstretched hand to shake. Pamela jumped at the contact, and her face lit up like fireworks.

"Whew! You are one spirited bitch, aren't ya?"

"That's one word for it," Dean grumbled.

Pamela smacked him in the chest.

"Don't be jealous, Sourpuss. No, there is definitely something special about you, girlie."

Kat squirmed at the attention. Pamela was still holding onto her hand.

"Uh…thanks, I guess."

"Nothing to be ashamed of. You're a fighter, inside and out. And it feels like you're pretty close to fighting. Do me a favor and lockdown that anger, would you? Messes with my mojo."

"Right. I'll um…get right on that."

"Good girl. Now where is this poor thing that I'm supposed to be helping?"

"Everyone's in the panic room," said Dean. "Think you can handle some stairs?"

"I'm blind, Dean, not paralyzed. I can take a damn staircase. Just let me hold onto one of those broad shoulders."

Kat was surprised to see Dean look so flustered, but he dutifully let the woman grab onto his arm. He threw Kat a look of mild suffering, and they all headed downstairs into the basement.

"We're here!" Dean called.

"Pamela, hey!"

Sam hurried over to the bottom of the steps, helping her down the rest of the way.

"Sam?" she asked. Kat noticed that her voice was much higher than it had been a moment ago. "Sam?"

"It's me. It's Sam, yeah."

"Sam, is that you?"

"I'm right here."

"Oh!" She sighed, stroking a hand down the side of his face. "You know how I can tell?"

Sam jumped about a foot as her hand sneaked around to smack his ass. Kat snorted loudly.

"That perky little ass of yours," Pamela said, her voice returning to normal. She turned toward Kat, positively beaming. "You could bounce a nickel off that thing!"

Sam chuckled ruefully, but let Pamela pat him on the chest.

"Of course I know it's you, Grumpy. Same way I know that's a demon, and that poor girl's Anna. And that you've been eyeing my rack."

"Oh, uh—uh…"

"Don't sweat it, kiddo. I still got more senses than most."

"Got it."

Pamela brushed past him, heading straight for Anna without any assistance whatsoever. Kat raised an eyebrow at Dean, who simply shrugged. She might be technically blind, but it looked like Pamela just got a kick out of using her disability to cop a feel and gain the upper hand wherever she could.

"Hey Anna. How are you? I'm Pamela."

"Hi," Anna said softly, taking both of her outstretched hands.

"Dean told me what's been going on. I'm excited to help."

"Oh, that's nice of you."

"Yeah, well, not really. Any chance I can dick over an angel, I'm taking it."

"Why?"

"They stole something from me," said Pamela, sliding her glasses off. Kat couldn't see her face from her spot on the stares, but the sight made Anna recoil in surprise. "Demon-y, I know. But they're just plastic. Good for business. Makes me look extra-psychic, don't you think?"

She laughed, and the worry melted away from Anna's face. It was easy to see why Sam wanted to call her. There was something about Pamela that put the whole room at ease.

She walked with Anna into the panic room, and Kat finished her way down the stairs.

"What did she mean?" she asked, nodding at Pamela's back. "That the angels took something from her?"

"That's what happens when you look at an angel dead-on," Dean supplied. "Pamela tried to get us answers when I popped outta my box. Held a séance, she got too close, and Cas burned her eyes out."

"Seriously?"

"Not on purpose," Sam continued. "He didn't have his vessel yet. He tried warning us, but uh…Pamela didn't want to listen. Wasn't sure she'd even risk working with us again."

"Yeah, well with your track record, I'm not surprised."

Sam frowned at her, dejected. But before he could argue, Pamela called back from the other room.

"Hey, Blondie! What did I just say? Ease back on the hostility. You're making my head spin."

Kat pouted as Dean chuckled behind her.

"If you're blind, how could you possibly know that I'm blonde?"

"Easy. Dean kept calling you Barbie on the way over here. Took a wild guess."

Dean's laughter died quickly, and he just dodged the fist that Kat sent his way.

"Will you two knock it off? Now why don't you make yourself useful and help Anna get comfortable in here. Otherwise you can go for a long drive and miss out on all the fun."

"You're on thin fucking ice," Kat hissed at Dean. She swatted at him one last time before turning her back, crossing the basement and ducking into the panic room.

When Pamela held up a hand to her, Kat stopped walking. She closed her eyes and tried to think back to the dusty books on meditation her mother had kept stocked in the living room. Living in the present, letting go of the tension in your body, breathing in light and breathing out shadows. She was never sure if she was doing it right, but it must have been enough. When she opened her eyes, Pamela was smiling.

"Alright, pretty lady. Pop a squat."

Kat grabbed the chair from the desk for Pamela, and a crate of ammunition for herself. She dragged them over to the cot where Anna was sitting, looking more nervous by the second.

"Now Anna," Pamela said in a soothing voice. "Dean told me a lot about you in the car, but I'd like to hear it from you. What is it you're looking for?"

"The truth," she said faintly.

"That can be a dangerous thing. You sure you wanna know?"

"Yes. I have…these abilities, things I don't understand. I don't know where they came from, or how I got them, or how long I've had them. I just want to know why this is happening to me. What makes me special."

"Alright. Dean mentioned to me that you used to be upset when you were younger, that you were afraid of your real dad. Do you remember any of that?"

Anna shook her head. "I remember my mom taking me to the therapist, but nothing about why."

"Okay. Well I'd say that's a good place to start, wouldn't you? Why don't you lie down on that cot there, and we'll see what we can find, huh?"

"Is…Is everyone going to watch us?"

She looked around the room nervously. The Winchesters had joined them, Dean leaning on the edge of the desk while Sam sat on a filing cabinet by the door. It was still open, letting Ruby peer into the room from the outside.

"I can send them away if you'd like," Pamela offered. "Whatever makes you comfortable, sweetheart."

Anna looked over at Kat, who nodded bracingly. She leaned forward on her box and gently squeezed her hand. Anna gave her a nervous smile.

"No, that's…that's fine."

She laid back on the cot, her arms relaxed on either side of her. Pamela turned her palms up to the ceiling, and brushed a hand over Anna's face to close her eyes. Anna took a shaky breath, and then complied.

"Nice and relaxed," Pamela instructed. "Now I'm going to count down from five to zero. When we're at zero, you'll be in a deep state of hypnosis. As I count down, just go deeper and deeper, okay?"

Pamela began her count down, and Kat took one last look over at Sam and Dean. They looked as nervous as she felt. Dean raised his eyebrows, a silent _here goes nothing._ That was all they could really do.

"Deep sleep," said Pamela. "Deep sleep. Every muscle calm and relaxed. Can you hear me?"

"I can hear you," Anna confirmed. Her voice was just above a whisper.

"Now, Anna, tell me…how can you hear the angels? How did you work that spell?"

"I don't know. I just did."

Kat privately thought that this was a bold place to start, but maybe true psychics didn't need to beat around the bush like most average hypnotists. Pamela must have thought the same though, because she backpedaled a bit.

"Your father—what was his name?"

"Rich Milton."

"Alright, but I want you to look further back. When you were very young. Just a couple of years old…"

"I don't want to."

"It'll be okay. Anna, just one look. That's all we need."

"No."

Anna was beginning to toss and turn on the bed, her hands flexing at her sides. Kat sat forward instinctively, ready to jump for her if she had to, and a sense of urgency rose in Pamela's voice.

"What's your dad's name?" she repeated. "Your real dad. Why is he angry at you?"

"No…No, no…"

She was panting now, her eyes squeezed shut. With a scream, she convulsed off the bed and the lights overhead flickered and crackled with electricity.

"No!"

"Calm down…"

"He's gonna kill me!"

"Anna, you're safe."

"NO!"

The panic room door slammed shut of its own accord. Overhead, every single lightbulb exploded simultaneously, showering them all in white sparks. Kat dove for cover, but was too scared to touch Anna. She's read terrible things about people who interfered with hypnosis, people who were ripped out of their sedated state. Dean, it seemed, had not.

"Dean, don't!"

He grabbed for Anna's arm, and the next moment he was flying across the room. His body landed on another chair, which splintered instantly under him from the sheer force of the fall. The iron walls began to vibrate, and the lights above them were swinging so wildly, Kat was sure they were plummet on top of her at any second.

Pamela got up from her chair.

"Wake in one, two, three, four, five!"

Everything stopped. Anna's body was so still, Kat thought she might have passed out from the stress of the episode. But as Pamela stroked back her fiery hair, her eyes fluttered open again. She looked surprised for a moment, but resolutely calm.

"Are you alright?" Pamela asked, and Anna sat up.

"Thank you, Pamela. That helped a lot."

Kat couldn't immediately pin point it, but there was something different about her voice. It might have been the stark contrast from her wails of pain moments before. She sounded so well-composed it was nearly alarming.

"I remember now."

"Remember what?" asked Sam.

Anna looked up at him. "Who I am."

She did not offer any more information than this, which is why a moment later, Dean spoke with a broken voice.

"I'll bite. Who are you?"

"I'm an angel."

The room became even more still than it felt the instant before. It was impossible to tell if anyone was even breathing. The sheer absurdity of the statement seemed to have frozen everyone in the room. They might never have moved again if the trance hadn't been broken by a scream from the other side of the door.

"Um, hello?" called Ruby. "Would anyone like to explain what the hell is going on? Are you all dead in there?"

Kat was the next to find her voice.

"What the fuck?"

Anna turned toward her sharply, and Kat flinched. Her eyes were soft, but there was no trace of the frightened young girl she'd been taking care of for the past few days. Now she seemed wise, self-assured, superior.

"You don't have to worry." She had the same soothing voice as Pamela, as though she was talking Kat off a ledge. "I'm still me."

"You don't feel like you're still you," said Pamela in a shaky voice. Her hand grabbed at the open air behind her. "Kat, can you…?"

"Yeah, right here." She pushed herself off the ground, taking Pamela's hand and helping the woman to her feet. "I got you."

"Thank you, sweetheart. Can you get me upstairs? Just some water or…"

"You got it."

Without another word, they exited the panic room. Ruby was waiting anxiously on the other side, but Kat didn't have the patience to deal with her. She side stepped that problem entirely, ushering Pamela back up the stairs and into the library.

"This is not the crazy I signed up for," she grumbled as Kat passed her a glass of water.

"I know the feeling. Feels like our graves just got a whole lot deeper."

Pamela huffed her agreement into her cup.

A minute later, the cavalry piled in behind them. Judging by the outstanding look of horror on Ruby's face, the news had not gone over well. Kat was still so shell shocked, she didn't even mind when Sam leaned on the table next to her. She was, however, surprised when Anna looked to her first.

"Kat…" Her voice had the same softness, but with a completely different tone. "It's really okay."

"Yeah, good to know it's all good on your end," she countered. "I'm just still having some trouble adjusting to which demons are actually trying to kill us and which angels are actually raging assholes."

"Don't be afraid. I'm not like the others."

"I don't find that very reassuring," Ruby sniped.

She was certainly keeping her distance, hovering in the kitchen as Anna paced the carpet in the study. If nothing else, Kat found comfort in knowing Ruby was scared shitless.

"Neither do I," Pamela agreed.

Anna's face softened, and she turned her attention to Sam and Dean.

"So—Castiel, Uriel. They're the ones that came for me?"

"You know them?" Sam asked.

"We were kind of in the same foxhole."

"So what, they're like your bosses or something?" asked Dean.

Anna smirked. "Try the other way around."

"Huh." Dean nodded, impressed. "Look at you."

"But now they want to kill you?" Pamela prompted.

"Orders are orders," said Anna, her face falling once more. "I'm sure I have a death sentence on my head."

"Why?"

"I disobeyed. Which, for us, is about the worst thing you can do. I fell."

"Meaning?" asked Dean.

It was Pamela who sighed.

"She fell to Earth, became human."

"Wait," said Kat, shaking her head. "Like…on purpose?"

"Being an angel isn't all it's cracked up to be," said Anna, smiling ruefully. "I'm sure you can see that by now."

"Yeah but…this…" Kat gestured vaguely at the room around her. "This sucks."

"To you. But not to someone who's never had it."

"Wait a minute," Sam interrupted. "I don't understand. So angels can just become human?"

"It kind of hurts," admitted Anna. "Try cutting your kidney out with a butter knife. That kind of hurt."

"Why?" asked Kat. "They have to pluck the wings from your back?"

"Kind of. I had to rip out my grace."

"Come again?" asked Dean.

"My grace. It's…energy," she explained. "Hacked it out, and fell. My mother, Amy, couldn't get pregnant. Always called me her little miracle. She had no idea how right she way."

"So you just…forgot that you were God's little power ranger?"

"The older I got, the longer I was human—yeah."

"I don't think you all appreciate how completely screwed we are," Ruby blurted.

"Ruby's right," Anna agreed. "Heaven wants me dead."

"And Hell just wants her," Ruby laughed. "A flesh-and-blood angel that you can question, torture, that bleeds. Sister, you're the Stanley Cup. And sooner or later, heaven or hell, they're gonna find ya."

"I know," said Anna. "And that's why I'm gonna get it back."

Sam shook his head, struggling to follow. "What?"

"My grace."

"You can do that?" asked Dean.

"If I can find it."

"So what?" he laughed. "You're just gonna take some divine bong hit and, shazam, you're Roma Downey?"

Kat turned her head, staring at him from across Pamela. "What the fuck does that even mean?"

"Christ, do you even own a television? _Touched by an Angel,_ CBS. It ran for like a decade."

"Why do you know that?"

"It's something like that," Anna intervened. "If I can reunite with my grace, I can get my powers back. I can take it from there."

"Alright," said Dean. "I like this plan. So where's this grace of yours?"

"She literally _just said_ she has to find it, dumbass."

"Hey, cool your engines," said Pamela, patting Kat on the knee. "Some of us are still a little drained, firecracker."

"I lost track of it," Anna went on. "I was falling about ten thousand miles per hour at the time."

"Wait. You mean _falling?_ Like, literally?"

"Yes," said Anna, turning to Sam.

"Like the way a human eye can see? Like a comet maybe, or a meteor?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, astronomical events like that—they're documented. They can be tracked. If you and your grace both literally fell from the sky, maybe somebody saw you."

"Is that legit?" asked Dean.

"I'm not sure," said Anna. "I don't see why not. It seems like our best option."

"Okay," said Sam, sounding painfully optimistic. "So let's start researching. I know Bobby's got a few almanacs in the basement, so we'll start there and see what we can find."

He stood, patting Anna on the shoulder and heading for the stairs again. Ruby took another step back into the kitchen.

"I'm gonna take a lap," she said lamely. "Check up on the omens and see if we're still in the clear."

"Oh, yeah uh…good idea." Sam nodded, looking to the rest of them. "You coming?"

"Yeah, we'll catch up," said Dean, waving him off.

Sam frowned, but didn't argue. He and Anna disappeared into the basement, and a few seconds later, Ruby vanished out the back door.

"God, I hate research," Dean groaned, wiping a hand down his face. "I was just not built for books."

He chuckled into the silence, but neither Pamela or Kat responded. Hurriedly, he cleared his throat.

"Look, Pamela, I know that none of this is what you signed up for…"

"Damn right it's not," she said tersely. "I came here to one up some angels and now you wanna get in the middle of a be-all-end-all firefight? Top notch demons against all the wrath of heaven?"

"Well, it's not really cause we want to, but…Anna needs our help."

Pamela sighed, and patted the hand that Dean had on the desk.

"I know she does. And I'm sorry. I love helping people, I do, but this…this is just way outta my ballpark, kid. I already lost my eyes, and I'd like to keep my ears and rack as is."

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with that," he assured her. "I'll take you home. Let me just grab Sam and…"

"Actually, I was thinking maybe Kat could give me a lift."

Kat perked up, looking between the two of them with rapt attention. Dean seemed surprised himself, and watched them with guarded curiosity.

"I mean…sure, if that's what you want, uh…"

"Nothing against you, darlin'," she said with a smile. "I do love those perky nipples of yours, but I could use some girl time with someone who's not so covered in crazy."

"Oh. Yeah, sure. You up to it, Kat?"

"Yeah, I got it," she assured him. "You drove both ways. I got this one."

"Alright. Well, Pamela, it was great to see you."

"Wish I could say the same, handsome."

Dean winced, but recovered with a grin. "My bad. You sure you don't wanna say goodbye?"

"Yeah, you kids got a lot on your plate. I don't need you getting sentimental on me. Ruins my image. Besides, I'm sure I'll hear from you boys the next time you get a bad idea."

"You're not wrong." He hugged her, only squeaking quietly when she squeezed his ass. "Ahem, so uh…get home safe."

"You know it. Try not to die on me, Perky."

Pamela slapped him on the cheek and headed out through the kitchen.

"Well," said Kat, backing up after her. "Talk to you later."

"Hey, Kat."

She stopped, turning back to look at him. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets, and was looking surprisingly solemn.

"You think…? Are, uh…Are you coming back?"

Kat frowned. It was something she hadn't considered. But now that he'd put it to her, she had a chance to wonder—did she want to come back? She was still pissed as all hell at Sam and Dean, no matter how sound their arguments had been. She didn't want to be around Ruby any longer than she had to be, and Anna…

When Dean had asked her to stay, his argument had been that she knew Anna better than any of them. They'd spent more time together, and the frightened girl that was in their care seemed to be more comfortable when she was around. But now there was no frightened girl. There was only an empty angel—and that was something Sam and Dean had far more experience with than she did. She didn't see how her help was any use.

"I guess I'll let you know," Kat said finally.

Dean nodded, and did not argue.

She met Pamela in the hallway, and helped her out of the house and into the Prius, which was waiting out front. Conflicted as she was, the fresh air was a blessing to her lungs.

"Thank you," she said to Pamela as she climbed into the driver's seat.

The other woman laughed.

"Hey, I did not need to be a psychic to feel the tension in there. I figured you could use a break as much as I did."

"You have no idea."

"Long story? Cause we got a long drive."

"Ha. I really don't think you want me driving and bitching at the same time."

"Yeah, you do seem the road-rage type." Pamela chuckled. "Well how about you buy me lunch? I know a great place about halfway. You like Chinese?"

"Pamela, that sounds divine."

Kat kicked the car into gear and, feeling lighter than she had in days, they sped away from Singer Auto Salvage.

It took them a couple hours to get to their destination. The restaurant was just outside of Omaha, a tiny place just off the interstate. Kat couldn't imagine Pamela got out here that often, but everyone in the place seemed to know her. She greeted the manager with a warm hug and a few wild insights, and after a comment about how she couldn't see the sights but loved to feel the sun on her skin, the hostess rushed them off to a booth right next to the window.

"You really know how to work that, huh?" Kat chuckled, settling into her seat.

"Well, you know what they say," Pamela laughed. "If you've got it, flaunt it. In my case it happens to be true for both my breasts and my plastic eyeballs."

She slid her glasses down momentarily, allowing Kat the glimpse that she hadn't gotten before. Pamela's new eyes were completely blank—no iris, pupil or veins. Kat did her best to repress a shudder. It reminded her of the suited demon from the chapel.

"Damn," Pamela sighed, sliding her glasses back into place. "You sure have seen some shit, haven't you?"

"Sorry. Wasn't trying to let on."

"Oh, I know. You're definitely the suppress and suffer type. But now that I'm not working, you can let all that shit out. It's not healthy to keep it locked up in there. Now, why don't you tell me what's been bothering you so much? Soon as I get some miso soup up in here."

Pamela filled the wait with her own marvelous stories. She told Kat all about her business, and how she used to travel the Midwest to do reading for people who needed it. Since her séance-turned-sour with the Winchesters, most of her business had to come to her, but she stuck by what she'd said to Anna. Her blindness had been good for business as an unrequired credential. Her sixth sense gave her a special insight to the world around her, and since she'd lost her primary one, she felt certain it had gotten even stronger.

As soon as the food came, she gave the floor to a reluctant Kat. With a little prodding, she convinced her to talk about Jessica, about how she'd lost her dad, and how her mother was out of her mind worried at home. She talked about meeting Sam, reuniting with Sam, and the shit storm her life had become since she agreed to help them take on the apocalypse.

It felt good talking to an outsider. Lord knows she would be hard pressed to find a therapist she could rant to about her demon troubles. But Pamela listened without judging. If anything, she seemed to be more on Kat's side than anything else.

Kat only stopped to breathe after she finished her lengthy rant about Sam's affair with Ruby, and how insane it was that he would lie to her about sleeping with a demon after it was a demon that had killed her sister.

Pamela nodded thoughtfully. "That is certainly some fucked up shit."

"Thank you," Kat sighed. "I'm just—I'm not sure how I can trust him when he keeps doing shit like this. I mean, the fate of the entire world is depending on him and his brother, and he's gonna take advice from a demon?"

"Trust's a funny thing like that," she said. "Doesn't always operate on reason. And even when it breaks, it doesn't erase the loyalty we had there."

"Loyalty?" Kat echoed. "Sam abandoned me for three years, and has lied about everything else since the day I found him. What about that says loyal?"

"The fact that he wants you safe, happy. He might be one hell of a screwy, misguided kid, but even I know he'd drop it all in a heartbeat to save you."

Kat frowned, stabbing one of her dumplings with her chopsticks. "Yeah, well, I'm not so sure about that."

"Or take the flipside," Pamela offered. "Mad as you are, you know damn well you're not gonna abandon him."

"I don't know that. I haven't decided yet."

"Yes, you have. No use being stubborn. Sam's all you've got left from that life with your sister, and as much as you might say you hate him, you're not gonna leave him out to drown. I don't think you've got that much spite in you."

"You sure?"

"Well," she said with a grin, "you're petty as all hell, but I don't think you're ready to let him die alone. Even if you're not sure what you can do about it, you've gotta try."

"That just makes me sound stupid," Kat groaned, glaring down at her plate.

"Loyalty is stupid. But it's the good kind." Pamela leaned back in her seat, and clasped her hands in front of her on the table. "Now, therapeutic as that was, I wanna talk about the other thing that's bothering you. That thought that's been eating at you since we met this morning."

"What?" Kat looked up. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Dive a little deeper, Kat. Ever since I showed up this morning, there's been this little spark of worry at the back of your brain. Let's air it out before it sets you on fire, hm?"

Kat picked at the wrapper to her chopsticks. She didn't feel as though she was in danger of combusting. Sure, she had questions, but they were all stupid ones. If they sounded this stupid in her head, she doubted they were going to sound any saner out loud. But with Pamela bearing down on her, she gave in.

"What did you mean this morning when you shook my hand? When you said that I was a spirited bitch?"

"That? Well that's nothing to worry about, honey. I was just talking about your aura."

"Aura?"

"Yup. Everyone's got one." Pamela gestured around the room. "It fluctuates with your mood and all that, but it's how I get a handle on what kind of person you are. How I could recognize Sam and Dean, see a demon. You just shine a little bit brighter than most people do."

"I shine?" Kat scoffed. "Sorry, that just—that doesn't sound like me."

"Well, it doesn't mean you're a ray of sunshine," Pamela conceded, "but there's definitely something special about you. Something pure."

Kat dragged her chopsticks lazily through the sauce that was still on her plate.

"Yeah. That doesn't sound like me either."

"I'm not surprised. That's another thing it doesn't take a psychic to guess. But it takes one to know one."

She could feel Pamela watching her, but she couldn't bring herself to look up. Far from feeling light, the afternoon was taking a dark turn that she wasn't prepared to handle.

"Alright," Pamela said brightly. "I'll go first."

"Pamela…"

"I don't know if you got a chance to glimpse my fancy tat on my back— _Jesse Forever_. Of course, it wasn't forever. I probably should have been able to guess that when he suggested the damn tattoo. But I was young and in love, so what the hell did I know? I made excuses, told myself that it was just the way he was when he was mad, just the way he was raised. But if I loved him enough, if I loved him right, maybe I'd be able to change all that. It was a long time before I realized the only one I was gonna be able to change was myself.

"Took me about three trips to the hospital before I convinced myself to leave him. I moved away, opened shop, really committed myself to exploring this part of me I'd never really considered before. And wouldn't you know it, I blossomed like a damn peony."

"I'm sorry," Kat murmured. "I didn't realize…"

"Course you didn't. I'm the psychic, not you, sweetheart. And I'm the one who offered, so no apologies here. See, I found a purpose in these gifts I have. I feel blessed to have them. Not many people have a sanctuary like that. So I do what I can to help people. And it's not hard to recognize when other people are doing the same."

It felt as though she was paralyzed. It wasn't that she couldn't talk about it, but she needed to be prepared. It was different when it was sprung on her, when it came up out of the blue. She stared at the grain on the table, knowing what was coming…

"How old were you?"

Kat closed her eyes. The paper from her chopsticks was gone. Without an alternative, her nails moved to the skin on her left hand, pinching and scratching until the skin felt raw.

"Katherine…"

"I was sixteen."

Pamela reached over, and physically pulled her hands apart. She held each of them fast, and forced Kat to look at her.

"Hey. You have been through more than your fair share of shit. And no matter what you feel like, no matter what you've seen, what you've endured, how you've coped—you're a good person. You shine brighter than anyone else in the joint. And trust me, kitten, I've seen my fair share of people."

Kat attempted to smile, but it wasn't easy when her bottom lip was quaking out of control.

"But I'm still—I'm still normal, right?" she managed to ask.

"Normal?"

"I'm human."

"Well, yeah," said Pamela, sitting up a little straighter. "You got reason to believe you're not, sweets?"

"No, it's nothing," Kat said quickly, shaking her head. "It was stupid."

"Hot stuff, today I have been chauffeured around the country, interviewed an angel, and grabbed the finest piece of ass this side of the Mississippi. Nothing you could say to me at this point is gonna sound stupid."

Kat snorted, and pressed her face into her hands. It took a moment to compose herself.

"I caught up with the Winchesters right after they came to see you about Castiel," she started, folding her arms on the table. "We were all asleep, and I was having these stupid nightmares about my sister—normal anxiety stuff. But there were all these other voices mixed in, some that I don't know. And the last thing I remember before I woke up was this voice saying, 'Dean Winchester, you have been saved.'

"I woke up and the motel was being shaken to shit—windows blown out, electricity going crazy, and Dean and Bobby were both grabbing their ears because of this ringing. But I wasn't. I figured I was just half asleep, you know? That it wasn't bothering me because I wasn't really paying attention. So I didn't really think about it until we had to work this case. And then I found out Anna could hear angels too."

"So now you're worried you might be an angel in disguise too."

"Thought crossed my mind," Kat finished bashfully.

"Well that would suck," said Pamela. "What about this other stuff Anna can do? Seeing demons, strange visions."

"No, nothing like that. But she wasn't always like that either. What if I think I'm good for now, and next week everything around me starts going haywire?"

"One thing at a time. Tell me more about these voices. How often have you heard them?"

"Just the once," said Kat. "Like I said, I was half asleep. But that was when Castiel was trying to talk to Dean."

"And you haven't heard anything since?"

Kat shook her head.

Pamela couldn't watch her while she thought, but she kept her face towards Kat, considering her. Her lips were pulled into a deep frown. After several minutes, she shrugged.

"Well, you've got me beat, girlie. I don't know of anything that can only hear angels sometimes and not the rest."

"So…you think I'm good? I'm not like…"

"You're not Anna. That I know. Even before our little experiment that girl was giving off all kinds of weird energy. You're like a super-cut diamond, and she's more radioactive."

"Then what is it?" Kat asked.

On the one hand, she was relieved. On the other, it was infuriating to voice her concern and still be no nearer an answer.

"I can look into it—metaphorically, of course," said Pamela. "After my accident I started stocking up on all kinds of religious books. Not sure there's anything that Bobby Singer doesn't already have, but you're more than welcome to stay the night and take a look."

"Oh, wow um…I really wouldn't want to—…"

"You say 'impose' and I will grab you by the tits and walk you back to the car," Pamela cut her off. "Helping people is what we do. And this is something I might actually be able to help you with."

"Right." Kat nodded, a smile working its way onto her face. "Thank you, Pamela."

"You got it, Barbie doll. Let's see if we can't figure out what makes you tick."


	24. Chapter 24

It was a distinct possibility that Pamela's couch was an actual gift from God.

Kat had stayed up reading every book in the woman's library—everything from prophets to idols and demigods. None of it was particularly useful. She felt obnoxious even considering most of it. She'd dozed off around midnight, and the moment her head hit the cushion, she passed out. She'd been asleep for nine solid hours.

It wasn't that Kat didn't appreciate the sleep. The past few days had left her drained, as had the drive from Ohio to South Dakota, and South Dakota to Iowa. Bobby's armchair in the panic room hadn't been a comfort either. The problem was that while she'd been sleeping, her phone had gone off no less than seventeen times.

Most of them were Sam, which she scrolled past without any regrets. One or two were from Dean, which she also ignored. But she had missed her mother's first phone call of the day. For that, she had to pay.

Only after listening to a five-minute rant about her communication skills was Kat able to explain to her mother that she had only missed her call because she'd been sleeping. That was a hard sell, as she rarely slept past seven, but she insisted that the case had her wiped and she'd decided to treat herself to sleeping in. Yes, it had been completely intentional.

Her mother had calmed down a bit after that, but she wasn't completely off the hook. After her mom was through with her, she'd passed the phone off to a very irate Harley.

The lecture started all over again. Why are you overworking yourself? Why didn't you come home in time? Why are literally five days late? What could possibly be so important that you're not home today?

Kat knew that her mother was egging Harley on. She never would have gone off like that without some kind of reassurance. She must have been having a ball yelling at her.

Once she petered out, Kat began her damage control lies. She was not overworking herself. There'd been some confusion at her hotel which had delayed her. She'd ran into a friend at the end of the conference and decided to take some time off. She was not home because she was currently having a very lovely brunch with her good friend Pamela.

It had done the ticket. Her mother knew the truth, but Harley was overjoyed to hear that Kat was taking some actual time off. She berated her for wasting time on the phone talking about the gym, told her to enjoy her day, and promptly hung up on her.

The only thing to do after that was actually take Pamela out for brunch. Harley demanded photo evidence of Kat having fun for a change, and that was a hard line. So they went out for breakfast and Pamela asked the very cute waiter to take a picture of the two of them with their mimosas. She also left him her phone number.

"Alright, you have to answer it this time, baby girl," said Pamela, the third time Kat's phone went off in the restaurant. "I'm putting my foot down."

"It's just Sam and Dean. If it was important, they'd leave a voicemail."

"If it wasn't important, they wouldn't have called you twenty times."

Kat shrugged and popped another piece of bacon into her mouth. "Then I guess we're at a standoff."

"Don't get all tough with me," Pamela teased, jabbing her fork at her. "Deny it all you want, but I can tell that you care about those boys. Somewhere underneath all that muscle you got."

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

"You sure? Got you to spend the night, cutie."

Smothering a smile, Kat took another bite of her omelet.

She hadn't anticipated it being quite so hard to hit the road. But an hour later, it was Pamela that was kicking her ass to the curb. She'd ask around about the angels. In the meantime, Kat had no excuse to stick around. They'd done everything they could.

Kat climbed into the Prius, just as her phone started ringing again. Resigned, she accepted the call.

"What?"

 _"You wanna know why I call you Tinkerbell?"_

"Cause you're an asshole?"

 _"Because you're a petty little blonde with a mean right hook."_

"Thank you."

 _"It's not a compliment,"_ Dean growled. _"Stop being a child and answer your goddamn phone."_

"I did. Otherwise you wouldn't be giving me this headache right now."

 _"You know what I mean. Sam's freaking out. You've been AWOL for like twenty-four hours, and in case you forgot, we've got a bunch of psychopath demons on our tail."_

"Wow. Sorry, Dad. I crashed at Pamela's and lost track of time."

 _"Goddamn it,"_ he groaned. _"If you slept with her I'm gonna be so freaking jealous."_

"You're disgusting."

 _"Hey, there's nothing wrong with two grown women spending the night together. So long as you tell me everything about it."_

"I was researching," Kat said pointedly. "Pamela said she'd been collecting books on angels, I thought I'd take a look to see if there was anything we didn't already know."

 _"Find anything?"_

"Are you kidding me? I suck at research."

Dean made some non-committal noise on the other end of the line, which Kat was fairly certain was hiding a snort.

"What about you guys? Find anything for Anna?"

 _"Yeah, Boy Genius managed to find the right comets last night. One of 'em was Anna, landed in Ohio. Other one was seen over Kentucky at the same time so, we're guessing that's her grace. We're headed there now, some massive tree that sprung up at ground zero. Took a pit stop, so I figured I'd give you a ring."_

"Great, well uh…good work."

 _"Thanks. I mean, it was mostly Sam but…yeah, thanks."_

The conversation stalled, and the silence it left was uncomfortable. Kat busied herself looking through her CDs, though she wasn't searching for anything in particular. Dean coughed, then cleared his throat.

 _"Look, I'm sure Sam's gonna try calling you again later. Do me a favor and pick up, alright? I can't take much more of his bitching."_

"Yeah, sorry. I probably should've called."

 _"Hey, not me you need to apologize to."_

There was another lull. Kat searched desperately for something, anything that would fill the silence without being too important, without being real. But she came up short.

 _"Anyway, we gotta get going,"_ said Dean gruffly. _"We're still an hour or two out and…"_

"This tree got an address?"

She'd blurted it so quickly, she worried he hadn't understood her. But he recovered.

 _"You sure you want it?"_

"Yeah, you can just—just text it to me or something."

 _"Sure. I'll keep you updated."_

"Thanks. I'm still in Iowa, so it'll take me a few hours, but I'll start heading your way."

 _"Sounds good. Just keep your damn phone on. And answer it."_

"You got it."

 _"Okay. Anything else you wanna bitch about or are we square?"_

"Just be careful," said Kat, rolling her eyes. "I'm sure the angels' resources are a lot more extensive than ours. If it took Sam a night to find Anna's grace, they might have beat us to it."

 _"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,"_ he confessed. _"Keep your fingers crossed. See you later."_

"Later, yeah."

Kat hung up, and stared at the phone in her hand. She did not feel good about this. She was reluctant, but not as reluctant as she thought she'd be. It was like when she'd gotten sick in school, when she wanted nothing more than to stay home and have the day to herself. Even then, she knew the guilt would have been too much. So as much as she didn't want to drag herself to school, she got some satisfaction out of doing it anyway. It was the right thing to do.

She held onto that feeling as she kicked the Prius into drive. Hopefully she was doing the right thing, and not just getting herself killed.

Saying that it would take her a couple of hours to get to Kentucky was an understatement. The trip was eight and a half hours on a good day. Kat wasn't looking forward to spending the day in the car, but she knew Anna's life was more important than her immediate comfort. So she sucked it up.

About three hours into the trip, her phone went off with another text from Dean. They'd found the tree, but Anna's grace was gone—taken by someone who'd beaten them to the punch. Kat refrained from saying, "I told you so." The good news was that no one had been waiting to smite them on sight, and everyone was okay.

They'd moved out from the open, taking cover in an abandoned barn house they found not too far away. It was there that Kat met them at nearly ten o'clock at night.

The door to the barn slid open as soon as she'd parked. Kat suppressed a groan. She'd made peace with the fact that she'd have to deal with Dean when she got here, but she hadn't let herself think about Sam.

He hurried over as she stepped out of the car, his long legs crossing the yard in just a few strides.

"Thank God," he sighed, his voice shaky. "Kat, what the hell were you thinking?"

"That I wanted to enjoy my last day living?"

She tried not to look at him as she grabbed the take out bags from the passenger seat. That failed when Sam placed a hand on the hood of the car, trapping her behind the open door.

"That's not funny," he said gravely.

"Good, I wasn't trying to be," she snapped. "I came back, Sam. I don't know what more you want from me."

"How about a little courtesy?"

" _Courtesy_?"

"Kat, do you have any idea how worried I've been? One call! Just a text! That's all it would've taken."

"Wow, that is—that is _rich_ , coming from you."

Sam laughed. It was sharp, derisive, and it actually threw her for a loop.

"No, not today. You don't get to hold that over me right now. We have got angels and demons on our ass just waiting for one of us to make the wrong move. While you were off with Pamela, we were all working our asses off looking for a way to save Anna. Only I couldn't focus, could I? Cause every ten minutes I had to stop and wonder if you weren't answering my texts cause you were pissed, or because a demon had caught up to you and killed you on the spot—if I had gotten you roped into this mess and gotten you killed when you didn't even let me say goodbye."

"Well, that would have sucked, wouldn't it?" she said tersely. "We done here?"

Sam stared at her down his nose, but did not answer. His brooding was impressive, especially when he used his full height to tower over her.

But Kat wasn't the slightest bit afraid of him. She gathered the food into her arms and pushed right through him. She walked into the barn and did not look back.

"Oh thank God," said Dean, as soon as she walked in. He ran over and seized the bags from her arms. "I'm starving."

"You're welcome," Kat grumbled. "Nice to see you too."

Dean waved her off, and Anna stepped up to replace him.

"Kat," she greeted gently. "I'm glad you're okay. We weren't sure if you were coming back."

"Yeah, well to be honest neither was I."

"I understand." Anna nodded, but smiled. "I can't thank you enough. Truly."

Kat gave her an awkward grin, but was at a loss for any meaningful response. It was a relief when Dean cut in.

"Salad?" he asked in disgust, holding up the plastic container. "Why the hell would you get a salad?"

"Honestly? I had a moment of panic, and wondered whether angels were all vegan."

Anna's laugh was much more delicate than Dean's grunt.

"I appreciate the thought," she said, "but burgers are preferable."

"That's what I'm talking about." Dean tossed her one of the packages, then turned to the corner. "Ruby, you got any demonic dietary restrictions?"

She glared at him from her seat on a spare barrel. "Funny. I'm fine."

"Suit yourself. Leaves the salad for you, big guy."

Dean tossed the container over Kat's head, where Sam caught it wordlessly. He brushed past her, going to stand with Ruby on the other side of the barn.

Kat avoided Dean's inquisitive look. She didn't need to deal with protective older brother syndrome on top of everything else.

"So what did I miss?" she asked, picking at her side of curly fries. "Where we at with this Easter egg hunt?"

"Square one," said Dean, only for Ruby to cut him off.

"There is no square one. There is no hunt. Somebody already claimed the prize. It's not like they're gonna hide it someplace else for us to find."

"Do we know who?" Kat asked.

"Not a clue," Dean answered. "But I doubt it's the demons."

"They wouldn't be able to," said Anna. "Not without the right equipment. And it's been so long since angels manifested on Earth, I doubt they'd have enough information to go on."

"So it's one of the angels," Dean confirmed. "Just holding onto it so you can't level up."

"That's all they have to do," she sighed.

"Does it have to be your grace?" Kat asked. "Is it specific to you? Or if we found someone else's…"

" _If_ we found one," emphasized Anna. "Fallen angels are few and far between. As you can imagine, the consequences sway most from infraction. I don't know that there's another grace anywhere in..."

She trailed off, and Dean huffed bitterly.

"Yeah, anywhere in anywhere. Which brings us back to plan B. We still got the hex bags. I say we head back to the panic room."

"What, forever?" Ruby scoffed.

"I'm just thinking out loud!"

"Oh, you call that thinking?"

"Hey!" Sam barked, stepping up between them. "Hey, stop it."

"Anna's grace is gone," Ruby said, glaring around at anyone who'd make eye contact. "You understand? She can't angel up. She can't protect us. We can't fight Heaven and Hell. Once side maybe, but not both. Not at once."

"Hey guys?" Anna's voice ended Ruby's rant. She was staring off into space, her head cocked to the side like a kitten hearing a far off noise. "The angels are talking again."

Kat put aside her fries. She followed Anna's line of sight, but she wasn't looking at anything specific. While everyone was distracted, Kat closed her eyes and tried to hear whatever it was that Anna had picked up on. But there was nothing. Just the faint breeze slipping through the warped holes of the barn walls, and the panicked breathing of five people up against unfavorable odds.

"What are they saying?" asked Sam.

"It's weird. It's like a recording—a loop. It says… 'Dean Winchester gives us Anna by midnight or…'"

Her eyes slid back into focus, and she closed her mouth abruptly.

"Or what?" Dean prompted.

Anna looked at him, as panicked as her stoic face would allow. "Or we hurl him back to damnation."

For once, Dean did not have a plucky response. It was true horror that flickered across his face, and he looked at each and every one of them for some kind of reassurance.

Kat could barely bring herself to breathe, let alone comfort him. She didn't know what it was like in Hell, couldn't possibly imagine it if she wanted to. But she'd overheard enough that night Dean slept on her couch, when he'd been mumbling his way through his nightmares. Damnation was no golden alternative.

"Anna," Sam said hurriedly, "do you know of any weapon that works on an angel?"

"To what?" she asked weakly. "To kill them?"

He tilted his head in ascent, barely fazed by the hurt in her voice.

"Nothing we could get to. Not right now."

"Okay, wait, wait," said Dean, waving his hands as he walked into the middle of the conversation. "I say we call Bobby. We get him back from hedonism…"

"Dean, what's he gonna tell us that we don't already know?" Sam demanded.

"I don't know! But we gotta think of something! Otherwise, I—I can't…"

"Dean." Everyone stopped to look at Kat. "We're not gonna let them take you. Either of you."

She didn't have any support for the statement, or any clue how they were going to make it out alive. But the positive assertion at least seemed to calm him. For now, no one was yelling.

"Okay," she said, starting again. "My question is where do the angels get off threatening us when they don't know where we are? They can't do anything to Dean if they can't find him right?"

"In theory," said Anna. "But there are ways angels can communicate without a physical connection. Thoughts, dreams…"

"Wait, every angel is also Freddy Krueger?" Dean asked in outrage. "Well fuck! This day just gets better and better."

"There's gotta be something," said Sam. "No way we're the first people in history on the run from angels. Anna, you're sure there's nothing you can think of that can protect him? Some kind of ward or ritual that makes him untouchable?"

"No. There are certain spells that can hide us more permanently, but I'd need my grace to put them in place. Any angel with enough power to do that…"

"Is gonna kill you on sight," Ruby finished. "We got it."

"What about angel warding?" Kat suggested. "I know I've come across a couple in the stuff Bobby sent me. If we put them up on the barn, or back at Bobby's, they won't be able to touch it."

"That won't work," Sam said, shaking his head.

"Why not?"

"Right now they can see everything, they just can't find us. If we black out a corner of the map, it'll lead them straight to us."

"What does that matter if they can't get inside?"

"They're just gonna wait us out. Eventually we run out of food, water, something. We can't stay anyplace forever."

Kat deflated. She knew he was right, but it was all she could think to do. She'd officially used up her contributions.

"Alright, we need to regroup," Dean sighed. "Kat, you said you were doing some reading at Pamela's house. You bring anything with you?"

"Just a couple," she said with a shrug. "Doubt it's gonna help."

"Yeah, well we gotta try. Everybody grab some food, grab a book, and…just try not to fall asleep."

They split up. Kat went out to the car to retrieve her books, but as she'd borrowed them to do research on herself, there wasn't anything to help their situation. She left the books about minor goddesses in the car and took out the two books on Christianity.

Luckily, Sam wasn't just a walking encyclopedia. He was a walking library. He pulled five heavy-looking manuscripts out of his rucksack and began passing them out for research purposes. Everyone tucked themselves in a different corner and began to read.

Kat's hopelessness caught up to her quickly. She'd read everything Bobby sent her over the past few weeks. She'd read for hours last night, and hours today. She hadn't done this much reading since she was in college. At least then it had been about reality, business, something that made sense. All of these bible passages and spells and ancient languages were making her head spin. If she'd been worried when she picked up the books, she was beyond lost now.

No one was fairing any better. Dean had gotten restless and moved outside with a lamp. A few minutes later, Anna had disappeared too. Ruby was lounging in a chair with a book in her lap that she was completely ignoring. Kat wanted to be pissed, but she couldn't see the use. Only Sam was still going, his endurance for research higher than the rest of them. But judging by the way his leg was bouncing incessantly, he wasn't making any progress.

At some point, he let out a rattling sigh. Ruby leaned over and grabbed one of his hands.

Kat abruptly got to her feet.

"Woah, wait!" Sam whirled around to look at her. "Kat, where are you…?"

"I'm going on a walk. I can't think straight anymore. I just need some air."

"Okay, uh…do you have…?"

"Yeah, I've got the hex bag. And my phone. Call me if you think of anything."

She did not wait for a response before exiting.

Outside the sky was clear. The stars shone as if nothing was wrong, and everything was the same as it always had been. Maybe it was, on the whole. It was colder than she would have like, but she was too stubborn to go back inside. She turned to the cars, thinking she might grab a jacket, only to stop short.

The Impala was creaking slightly, the body shaking back and forth of its own accord. Kat's jaw dropped in horror, and she quickly turned her back.

Dean Winchester was unbelievable. She just could not catch a break.

She walked—away from the barn and into the field. It was a bad idea, even with the hex bag. They weren't far from Anna's tree, and they already knew that someone else had beaten them to it. They shouldn't be staying so close. But Kat couldn't bring herself to care. She just kept walking, with no particular destination.

The tree grew on the horizon. It was bigger than Kat had anticipated. An ancient oak with a massive trunk, its branches stretching between the stars, its leaves untouched by the cold November air. Even without Anna's grace, the sight brought Kat some kind of peace. This was what a miracle looked like. Not a lottery ticket or a quick fix to a bad situation. Just a tree, perfect and untouchable.

Kat sat down at the base, leaning her back against the bark. If she ever needed a miracle, it was now.

"God, what am I doing here?"

There was nothing she could do, and she'd known it. So why bother coming back? She'd get a front row seat to Anna's death, or Dean's third hundredth funeral, or she'd end up dying trying to fight it. And what was the point? Alive she could go home to her mother. She could go back to the gym and be empowering. She could continue hunting, saving people's lives. They wouldn't get help if she was dead. So why did her fucked up brain think it was so much more noble to die for a hopeless cause?

She leaned her head back, staring up at the open sky.

"This is your fault, you know," she said, narrowing her eyes. "If you hadn't been so stubborn about me patching things up with your boyfriend, we never would have landed in this situation. I'm just not cut out for this, Jess. I'm not sane enough. I know staying is supposed to be the right thing to do, but why? It's not like I'm helping matters here. If they're gonna win, they're gonna win, and if they're gonna die, they're gonna die. I don't have any say in the matter. I don't matter that much."

The sky did not answer her. Kat frowned, and leaned her head against her knees.

"All I ever wanted to do was help people. I just wanted to make sure there were a few less girls like you that died for someone else's war. Maybe that's what I should do. I sure as hell can't stop the Apocalypse, but…I can make sure everyone is a little happier before we all go. Should…Shouldn't that be enough? Can't I just be happy with that?"

Tears were sinking through the denim of her jeans. Kat let out a watery laugh, attempting to wipe her face.

"Fuck, I wish you could answer me. I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing."

She cried. She wasn't sure for how long. The sky was getting darker, and the air was getting colder. Midnight was ticking closer. Their time was running out. Still, Kat couldn't bring herself to move. None of it mattered.

She could not have guessed how long it was before she heard footsteps in the grass.

"Mind if I sit with you?"

Kat grinned. She wanted to tell Sam that he was not allowed to sit with her and he could go fuck himself. But that would have taken a lot of energy.

He slid down next to her, propping himself up on the roots of the colossal tree. She knew he could hear her sniffling, and she was too lazy to hide it. He had to know that he wasn't wanted though, because it took him a good five minutes to say anything.

"You okay?"

There was a breath of laughter, and she shook her head. "Ask me something else."

"Alright. You find anything?"

"Sitting out here crying in the dirt? Uh, no. No, I did not find anything. What about you?"

"Not in the books. I've got an idea, but…it's not a good one. Figured I'd run it by you."

"Why?"

"Believe it or not, I care about your opinion," he said dryly. "And I'd ask Dean, but he's…"

"Busy playing _Titanic_ with Anna, yeah. Classy." Sam laughed, but Kat still refused to look at him. "So, hit me. What's Plan C?"

"Well, I was thinking about what Ruby said before. How we can't take Heaven and Hell."

"And contemplating how royally fucked we are? Yeah, me too, Sam."

"She's right, but…what if we didn't have to take on both? What if we just let them fight each other?"

"You wanna let them duke it out?"

This time she did look at him, but only to make sure that he wasn't sniggering behind her back. When she realized he was serious, her jaw dropped.

"Jesus, Sam, you said 'plan' not suicide mission."

"I know it's risky…"

"Risky? You just upgraded us from a plan where one person dies to one where the barn explodes and we all kick it together. How is that a plan?"

"It's not a permanent solution," Sam admitted. "Best case scenario, angels and demons take each other out and we slip away before anyone can send reinforcements."

"Then what?" asked Kat. "We all spend the rest of our lives on the run? While also trying to stop the apocalypse? We send Anna off on her own as a human fugitive and hope the angels believe us when we say we don't know where she is?"

"Look, I can't worry about the whole picture right now," he said angrily. "Right now, I'm just trying to find a way to save my brother from going back to the pit."

Kat relented, looking out over the field once more.

"So what do we do?"

"Wait," said Sam glumly. "When Dean falls asleep, the angels will ask him where Anna is. Ruby ditches the hex bag and pretends to sell us out to Alastair. If it works, tomorrow morning we've got an angel and demon on each shoulder."

"You think they'll buy it?" Kat asked. "We haven't exactly been cooperative up to this point."

"I know. But saving your own skin's a pretty convincing motivator."

"Yeah, so I've been told." She head Sam inhale and quickly cut him off. "If you 'I'm sorry' one more time, I might actually vomit."

"Then what do you want from me, Kat?"

"I don't want anything."

"Well, clearly you do," he argued, "otherwise you wouldn't have come back!"

"I didn't come back because I hate you. I came back because I still wouldn't be able to live with myself if you died."

It was quiet after that. Sam was looking at her, but he wasn't saying anything, which made her nervous. She shifted uncomfortably, and pulled her legs up to her chest.

"I know that's stupid," she said to fill the silence. "I can't do anything about any of this. I know a couple self-defense moves, which isn't gonna do jack against an angel or a demon. I'm useless."

"You're not…"

"Yeah, I am Sam. Here? I'm absolutely no help to you guys. I'm dead weight, and everyone's too nice to say it. Which is saying something considering that you're all fucking assholes."

"Thanks."

"Still. I can't picture myself going home and being able to pretend that everything is the same. You're gonna get us all killed, but…for some reason walking away doesn't feel right. No matter how much I hate you."

Sam nodded.

"I told Dean that I wasn't gonna let it get this far. This thing with you. I was gonna send you home before things got hairy, but…to tell you the truth, I don't want you to go."

"Good to know you want me dead too."

"Not like that," he chuckled. "I just mean…you help. More than you know."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He sighed, and Kat watched him tuck his knees up out of the corner of her eye, mirroring her stature.

"I think you keep me grounded. It's like have a piece of the old me around to make sure I don't take things too far. When Dean yelled at me about what I was doing with Ruby, it didn't really bother me, you know? Cause the whole time I was doing it I knew he wouldn't approve. But when you came around…it was something I hadn't really thought about. What it meant to use those powers after what happened to Jess. And maybe I can't go back to the person I was at Stanford, but I don't wanna go down that road I was following. I don't want that to be me."

Kat thought about that, and then smiled into the darkness.

"So you're keeping me around because you need someone to yell at you when you're dumb?"

Sam laughed, a full bodied one this time that echoed out into the night. Maybe it was the absurdity of it all, the knowledge that she could die in the next few hours anyway, but Kat laughed too.

"Well, don't yell at me every time I'm dumb," he wheezed. "You'd pretty much never stop yelling."

"Eh, I never stop yelling as it is. I don't think you make much of a difference."

"Hey, I almost forgot…"

Sam stuck his legs out again, twisting so he could reach a hand into his pocket. He pulled out a long rope necklace, beads offset along its length. A small pendant swung at the bottom, depicting a pentagram engulfed in fire.

"I found it at Bobby's when we were going through the books," he explained, passing it over to her. "It's an anti-possession charm. If things go south, the demons won't be able to jump you."

"Thanks," she said softly, hold it up to the light. "What happens if it breaks?"

"Yeah uh…don't let it." He grinned at her. "I know it's not perfect, but I wanted to get you something."

Kat's stomach soured, and she quickly looked away from him.

"You just said you stole this from Bobby. Not exactly a grade-A gift, Sam."

"It was last minute. Not to be an asshole, but I forgot until I couldn't get through to you this morning. Sorry it's been such a shitty day."

"Whatever." She slipped the necklace over her head, and looked out to the horizon. "I still hate you. This is…armistice."

"That's fine." That annoying smile was still in his voice. "Happy Birthday, Kat."


	25. Chapter 25

Kat did not sleep well. In part, it was because the Prius just wasn't that comfortable. She would curl into one position and fall asleep, only for her limbs to fall asleep too and wake her up in discomfort. She tossed and turned, unable to find any peace.

The other problem was the death sentence looming over her head.

She stared up at the ceiling of her car, contemplating everything she had done in her life. As a whole she'd done good, she figured. She hadn't recovered from the shit deck she'd been dealt, but she made do. She'd gone back to school, supported her mother, helped save people all over the country. The whole world would be ending in a few months, but she was sure that would count for something when she snuffed it and got to…where? Did you still go to Heaven if you were killed by an angel? Would she be thrown out for acting against God's will? If that's what this was, even. Would she be sent to the pit for trying to protect Anna?

Once or twice, she took out her phone and went to call her mother. It was late, but Kat had a special ringtone in case there was an emergency. Her mother would pick up, and she could explain the whole situation. But then she'd tuck the phone away. Did she want her last conversation with her mother to be a fight about the Apocalypse? Better she died knowing that her mother loved her, and her mom would think it had just been a stray band of demons. It was better that way.

It was a relief when the sun's rays crawled their way through the windshield. Dying would suck, but waiting was worse. She'd rather get it over with.

Sam, Dean and Anna were already in the barn. No one was really doing anything except pacing, or drinking in Dean's case. There wasn't anything left to be done.

"Morning," said Sam in a would-be-calm voice. "You good?"

"Yeah, Samuel. I'm spectacular."

She walked over to Dean, and tapped him on the shoulder. Wordlessly, he passed her the flask. She took a swig without asking what it was.

"Where's your girlfriend?" she asked Sam.

"Uh, she's…she's not back yet." His calm was slipping dangerously. "Haven't heard from her."

"Well, I'm sure she's fine. They're just demons."

Sam cast her a dark look, and Kat shrugged.

"What about you?" she asked, nudging Dean again. "Everything go alright?"

"I'm not exactly alright with a burly black dude poking around my brains," he snapped, fidgeting anxiously. "But it played out about how we thought. Gave me a choice between Anna and Sam, and…well, I just had to pick the right one."

He took another sip from his flask. Clearly, he wasn't comfortable with the situation at all.

"There's something else," said Anna. She looked remarkably calm for someone on their way to the gallows. "Uriel revealed to Dean that he's in possession of my grace. If we can distract him long enough, I may be able to get it back."

"Well that's great." Kat looked around hopefully, but no one else seemed enthused. "Right?"

"Yeah, if we can distract him," said Dean. "He's a determined son of a bitch."

"Then I guess it's a good thing Ruby's bringing a pack of demons."

"They should be here by now," Sam sighed. He peeked through the gaps in the wall, staring out at the yard. "They were supposed to show up first. Where the hell is she?"

"Hey, she's your hell buddy," Dean shot.

He turned to alcohol again, prompting Anna to raise an eyebrow.

"Little early for that, isn't it?"

"It's two AM somewhere," he dismissed. He passed the flask back to Kat. It was nearly empty, but he waved at her to finish it off.

Kat tossed her head back, draining the liquid and smacking her lips.

"We're all gonna die anyway," she said brightly. "Might as well."

Anna didn't seem impressed by that answer. She turned to look at Dean with undisguised concern.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Of course."

He did not have time to argue further.

A gust of wind blew through the barn, and the double doors at the far end swung open. Two men marched inside, their faces black and void of emotion. Kat had never seen either of them before, but she knew enough to recognize them on sight.

Uriel was on the left—tall, bald, and just as surly as Dean had described him. He wore a black suit which fit him well, and made him look as imposing as he truly was.

Castiel stood by his side, slightly shorter, slightly more disheveled. His dark hair was windswept and untidy, and each piece of suit that he wore seemed askew. His trench coat nearly engulfed him whole. It might have been what she already knew about him, but Kat thought his face looked less rigid, more understanding. It did not make him any less powerful.

Kat shivered, shrinking behind Sam. She wondered if anyone else in the room had felt the air change when the angels walked inside. The atmosphere seemed supercharged by their energy. It was frightening, but neither man spared a glance for her. They only had eyes for Anna.

Sam and Dean stepped forward, creating a barrier before her.

"Hello, Anna," Castiel spoke, his voice deeper than was to be expected. "It's good to see you."

"How?" Sam demanded. His voice shook with fear, and Kat almost forgot that he knew exactly what was going on. "How did you find us?"

Castiel's eyes flickered to Dean, and the rest of the room followed him. Dean's eyes sunk to the floor with guilt. Unlike Sam's confusion, Kat was certain that his pain was real.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to Anna.

"Why?" Sam demanded.

"Because they gave him a choice." Anna looked steadily at her former inferiors, her voice steely. "They either kill me, or they kill you. I know how their minds work."

Uriel was smiling proudly, while Castiel momentarily averted his gaze.

Anna took Dean by the arm and planted a soft kiss to his lips.

"You did the best you could. I forgive you."

It did not look as though Dean was going to let her go. Kat wasn't sure if that was genuine, or just Dean stalling for time. But eventually Anna had to step forward, defiant.

"Okay. No more tricks. No more running. I'm ready."

"I'm sorry," said Castiel.

"No, you're not." Anna shook her head. "Not really. You don't know the feeling."

"Still. We have a history. It's just…"

"Orders are orders," she finished. "I know. Just make it quick."

"Don't you touch a hair on that poor girl's head."

Kat whirled around.

Ruby had finally arrived. She was bleeding heavily from her stomach, barely held upright by two black eyed demons. In front of them stood the terrifying man from the church—Alastair.

No one moved. The demons were assembled on one end of the barn, the angels standing firm on the other. Sam swept Kat behind him, pushing her toward the side of the barn and stepping back. It was time to get out of the middle. It was time for the showdown.

"How dare you come in here," said Uriel, glowering at Alastair as he strode mightily forward. "You pussing sore."

The demon lackeys dropped Ruby unceremoniously to the dirt, and she scrambled into a corner to hide.

"Name-calling," Alastair drawled. His host had a slight lisp. "That hurt my feelings. "You sanctimonious, fanatical prick."

"Turn around and walk away now," Castiel ordered.

"Sure. Just give us the girl. We'll make sure she gets punished good and proper."

Castiel stepped forward to join Uriel. His voice was dangerously low.

"You know who we are and what we will do. I won't say it again. Leave now, or we lay you to waste."

"Think I'll take my chances," Alastair hissed.

Kat grabbed Sam's hand. It was jump ball. And the demons were the first to move.

All she had time to see was Uriel slamming one of the men through a support beam before Sam pulled her out of sight.

"Stay down," he ordered, pushing her behind a stack of hay. "We'll take it from here."

"We?" she hissed. "I thought the whole point was to let them kill each other?"

"Angels are one man down," said Dean. "It's gotta be a fair game."

"Are you two insane?"

There was a bang as Castiel and Alastair collided. The angel dealt blow after blow, but it didn't seem to do any damage. Uriel was fighting two demons at once. To Kat's left, Anna was already sneaking around to his side of the barn.

"Kat, just stay down," Sam pleaded.

She didn't get a chance to argue before another slam echoed through the room. Alastair had gained the upper hand, and Castiel was lying flat on his back. The demon grabbed him by the throat, yanking him up into a sitting position. And then he began to chant.

 _"Potestas inferna, me confirma. Potestas inferna, me confirma. Potestas inferna, me confirma."_

Castiel's face was growing red, his eyes rolling back inside of his skull. Whatever Alastair was doing, it was rendering him complete incapable of fighting back.

Kat blinked and Dean had already leapt forward. He produced a crowbar out of nowhere and swung it into Alastair's face. The demon dropped Castiel, who thumped to the floor, but barely stumbled back from the blow. As Dean held the crowbar up to swing again, Kat noticed that the entire thing had been bent in half.

"Oh, Dean, Dean, Dean," Alastair drawled, regaining his balance. "I am so disappointed. You had such promise."

Alastair raised his hand, and Dean and Sam both dropped to their knees. They were gasping for breath, clawing at their throats, and the demon was smiling brightly above them. He straightened his suit, pulling his cuffs down and leaving them to suffocate as he turned back to Castiel's limp body.

"Now. Where was I?"

"Don't!"

Kat jumped over the bale of hale and skidded across the floor. She planted herself in front of Castiel, pulling her gun out from her pants and pointing it directly into the demon's eyes. Her body was shaking beyond her control, but at this distance, she did not need to worry about aim.

Alastair looked down his nose at the orange plastic, and followed her arm back up to her face. He seemed almost too offended to be amused.

"Sweetheart, you're a little late for amateur hour."

"Yeah, I know."

She squeezed the trigger rapid-fire, squirting the holy water into his eyes. Alastair spluttered and waved his hand. It could have been regular water for all the good it did, but Kat could see that the droplets were sizzling on his cheeks.

Before she could recover, Alastair shoved a hand out toward her. It did not hit her chest, but it felt as though she was hit by a semi. Her body left the floor as she was thrown back through the air, through the barn wall through the yard outside. She hit the ground and tumbled. Her head smacked against every possible obstacle. Her limbs twisted dangerously under her body. Her bones cracked as she heard at least two of her fingers break.

The world was a swimming blur. It took a lifetime for the air to return to her lungs, and her body screamed as though it was allergic to oxygen. Someone was screaming—more than one person. But she couldn't figure out which way it was coming from. She gasped in a breath and subsided into excruciating coughs. Blood was dripping into her mouth from her head, and she was choking on it.

Kat dug her nails into the ground and pulled, dragging her body across the grass. If there was noise, the fight was still going. If there was screaming, someone was hurt. She pushed herself up onto her knees squinting around to find the right direction. Another unintelligible scream, and she blinked the barn into focus.

It was the brightest light that she had ever seen. It didn't sting. It didn't hurt to look at. In fact, nothing hurt anymore. She didn't have a body. There was only this light, white and beautiful, completely engulfing the world around her.

Out of the light, wings unfurled. Kat wasn't sure if they were real, or if they were bending beams of sun, or if her brain was struggling to impose some kind of imagery on the blank canvas. For a moment, she thought she saw a human shape, but it vanished as soon as she noticed it. It was replaced by—not a face. She could not see its eyes or nose or mouth, but she was overcome by the feeling of being looked at. The warm, almost uncomfortable feeling of prolonged eye contact with someone who understood you heart and soul. Only nothing could be uncomfortable here. She would never be uncomfortable again.

Everything vanished.

Now her eyes ached. Were they open? Closed? Was she still alive? She had to be, she realized, as the pain began to register in her bones. But the world seemed black now, black in the absence of light.

Kat collapsed onto her side. She was able to relish the feeling of the grass on her face before she vomited, rolled over, and passed out.

A moment later, Sam was already sprinting out of the barn. He ripped the broken wood out of his way, spinning frantically on the spot.

"Kat? Katherine? Kat!"

He spotted her crumbled in a patch of high grass, and was next to her in an instant. He dropped to his knees, wanting to grab her but too afraid to touch. The dirt was over turned where she'd slid across her, the grass under her head stained with her blood. It was dripping down her face, trickling from her mouth. He cringed at the pool of bile next to her. It hadn't been instant, if she really was…

"No," he whimpered, dragging her torso into his lap. He tried not to notice the way her head lolled heavily against his arm. "Come on, Kat. Please. Kat, please don't do this. Come on. Wake up."

Dean's hand was on his shoulder, but it was no comfort. He couldn't recognize the curses coming out of his mouth. He pleaded, would have prayed if the angels hadn't just left, until finally…

"Your voice is really annoying."

His gasp caught in his throat, and Sam sniffed away the tears that had threatened his eyes. Kat was stirring, inching her hands across the grass.

"Hey, no way," he said when she tried to pull away from him. "Stay down. You're hurt."

"Fuck you, Sam."

"Jesus Christ, Tinkerbell," Dean wheezed from above them. "You really flew, huh?"

Kat coughed. Her eyes fluttered open long enough to glare at him, and the hand resting on her stomach curled to flip him the bird.

"And was that your water gun on the floor? You seriously tried to take Alastair with that thing? Are you psychotic?"

"You were amazing," Sam assured her, beaming. "Dean's just pissed you saved his ass."

"Right. Pointing a plastic pistol at a demon. Revolutionary."

"Hey!" Ruby poked her head out through the Kat-sized hole in the wall of the barn. "Not to break up the party, but Barbie's not the only one who needs medical attention. Can we get out of here? Please?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we'll be right up," called Dean. He squatted down, jutting his chin toward Kat. "You wanna take her and I'll drive Ruby?"

"Yeah, go on. I'll catch up. I just wanna make sure I'm not gonna make things worse when I move her."

"Sure thing, Doc. Kit Kat, behave."

She groaned instead of snapping back, a testament to how much pain she must have been in. Sam laid her back gently on the grass and moved out from under her.

"Okay," he breathed, his eyes scanning over her body. "How are you feeling?"

He expected her to yell at him, and was a little thrown when she responded.

"I've got two broken fingers on my right hand, a couple of bruised ribs, definitely a cut on the back of my head, and a basket of contusions everywhere else. I'm, uh…willing to bet both my ankles are sprained, and I am…I am really not looking forward to feeling the whiplash when I sit up."

Sam huffed out a laugh. "Anything you don't feel?"

"My whole body feels like a bruise. I'm not sure what I'm feeling and what's radiating."

He nodded, and began checking the damage in each of her body parts. He hadn't studied enough to know exactly what he was doing, but he'd practiced enough that his movements were confident. He and Dean had checked each other over for years after injuries like this, and they were both still standing. Sam was worried because Kat was smaller than either of them, but she'd made out pretty well. Well as anyone who'd been thrown fifty feet through a wall.

The hardest part was getting her back to the car. Even on verge of paralysis, Kat did not want to give him the keys to the Prius.

"I don't want you driving him," she'd argued. "You're gonna steal him again."

"Kat, I can't steal your car if you're inside it. I just wanna get you to a motel so you can lie down."

In the end, he'd endured her defensive scratching as he fished the keys out of her pocket. He'd driven the car around to the back, not wanting to risk carrying her too far. She did not fit comfortably in the backseat, but since Dean had taken the Impala, they really didn't have a choice in the matter.

The drive was brutal. There were a lot of uneven paths they had to cover before they made it back to the highway. Sam winced every time they hit a bump, and Kat grunted in pain. The sounds faded the longer he drove, and at some point stopped altogether. He glanced in the mirror to check on her, but it looked like she'd passed out again.

Sam knocked on the motel room door before he got her out of the car. Dean helped him carry her inside and place her on one of the beds. The other Dean had already prepped with ace bandages and a bucket of ice, as well as the stolen purse that acted as their sewing kit.

"Where's Ruby?" asked Sam, once Kat had settled down.

"Got her own room," Dean answered. "Said she didn't need my help healing and wasn't crazy about me touching her. Guess that's you-specific."

"Shut up."

"Anyway, I didn't fight her. Don't need to go from one cosmic cat fight to another."

Sam chuckled to himself. Just the thought of Kat and Ruby going at it in their current states was funny. Kat with all her limbs in splints and slings, Ruby still clutching her stomach to keep her guts inside.

Alright, so that shouldn't have been funny to a normal person. But it had been a long day.

"How are you feeling?" Dean asked, offering him a beer.

"Me?" Sam shrugged. "Fine. What about you?"

"Peachy. A little sore where Alastair tried to Vader us, but that's about it."

Sam busied himself opening his beer. The demon's name had jump started his memory, and now that there weren't fists flying on every side, he had a second to process what he'd heard inside of the barn.

 _"I'm so disappointed,"_ Alastair had said. _"You had such promise."_

He knew Dean. That much was clear. And based on what Ruby had told him about Alastair's day to day activities, there was only one place that could have happened. If Dean had crossed paths with the demon in the pit, if Alastair was really in charge of all the torture that made Hell as bad as it was…

Well, he wasn't touching that with a ten-foot pole.

Dean seemed to be waiting for him to make the first move, so Sam took a swig from the bottle and shot his brother a smile.

"You know, for a battle royal, looks like we got off pretty much scot free."

"Yeah, no shit. Kat's gonna be the only one with battle scars." Dean's eyes fell to where Kat was lying on the bed. "How is she?"

"Definitely could be worse. But I don't know how much we're gonna be able to do for her. A couple splints, some ice, rest. That's about it."

"I don't think she's gonna be crazy about rest."

"You got that much right."

"I think I could be of some assistance."

Sam and Dean jumped about a foot in the air, and spun around. Castiel had materialized in the motel room, standing awkwardly by the door. He looked to be alone, but Sam looked around wildly, just in case.

"What the hell, man?" Dean roared. "Sam, do you still have—…?"

"The hex bags, yeah," he said. He grabbed the closest gun off the bed, scrambling to aim it. "So how the hell did you find us?"

Castiel held up his hands in surrender.

"I followed your car from the barn. I didn't mean to startle you."

"Give it up, Cas, will ya?" Dean grumbled. "We don't know where Anna is any more than you do."

"I'm not here for Anna. And I'm not here for the demon."

"Then why are you here?" asked Sam.

Castiel's eyes drifted toward the bed, and he crossed the room to stand next to Kat. Sam's hand tightened on the trigger of the gun, but Dean grabbed his arm before he could do anything. Kat stirred in her sleep, and Castiel reached out with two of his fingers. He placed them gently on her forehead. A moment later, her eyes fluttered open and she let out a quiet gasp.

"Kat?" Sam pushed the gun into Dean's hands, hurrying to her side. "Kat, are you okay? What did you do to her?"

"I've healed her," the angel said plainly. "You should feel much better now."

Sam turned back to her, inspecting everything he could see. Kat was testing herself too, stretching her legs and wiggling her fingers. She moved to sit up, and Sam helped prop her up instinctively. However, she no longer seemed to need his help.

"Um, thanks…" she mumbled, looking up at Castiel.

Dean disarmed the gun, and tossed it back on the bed. "Yeah, thanks, bud. Got any magic pain killers for the rest of us?"

Castiel did not answer him. He didn't even acknowledge that he'd heard him. He'd sat down on the edge of the bed and was still looking at Kat, his eyes as curious as an angel's could be.

"Hello, Katherine. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. My name is Castiel."

"So I've heard," she said softly. Sam felt her shift closer to him, and he protectively took one of her hands. "Nice to meet you too. When you're not trying to kill another angel, anyway."

"The situation with Anna was unfortunate," he admitted, "but I don't intend to harm you in any way."

"What did you come to do?" Dean asked again.

Again, Castiel ignored him.

"What you did in the farmhouse was reckless and ill-advised," he said, addressing Kat.

"Excuse me?" Her jaw dropped, and she glared at him. "We saved your scrawny ass."

"I wanted to thank you."

Sam was surprised—absolutely floored—to see that Castiel was smiling softly. He exchanged a quick look with Dean, who looked just as shocked.

"Oh." Kat reeled her temper back in, but didn't seem to have an appropriate response to replace it. "Well…you're welcome."

"I hope you don't mind, but I've been doing some inquiring. It would seem that you are a rather special person."

He stared unblinkingly at her, until Dean finally cleared his throat.

"Dude, just buy her some flowers. Don't make it weird."

"You didn't close your eyes."

Sam wasn't sure what Castiel meant by that, but Kat stiffened at his words. Her eyes dropped to his lopsided tie, and she shook her head.

"And what you saw?"

"It…It was beautiful."

"Alright, what am I missing here?" asked Dean, moving to stand next to Sam. "Didn't close her eyes when?"

"Anna," Sam whispered. He looked from Castiel to Kat, but she still wouldn't meet his eye. "When she swallowed her grace, she told us to close our eyes. You—You didn't close your eyes?"

"I didn't hear her," Kat said quickly, as if he was scolding her. "I'd just been thrown through a wall, thanks, so I didn't exactly have a good grip on what was going on."

"Wait, Anna's _grace_?" Dean's jaw dropped, and he looked around for some kind of confirmation. "Are you telling me that Kat looked her dead in the angel eyes and she somehow didn't get her head blown up?"

"I told you, Dean," said Castiel. "There are certain humans that are gifted with that ability. They can see and hear angels without our taking on vessels, can commune with Heaven directly if necessary. Katherine cannot overhear angels as Anna could, but she can perceive our true visage without consequence. She is one of the chosen."

"Chosen? Me?" Kat stared at him, horrified. "Why? I mean, no disrespect, but I'm not exactly the most devout Christian on the block. I don't think I've been to church since last Christmas. Mom and I kind of skipped Easter."

"It's not about devotion," Castiel assured her. "It's about destiny."

"Destiny," Sam echoed sourly.

Between his business with Azazel and all of Dean's talk with the angels, it was quickly beginning to become one of his least favorite words.

Castiel didn't seem fazed by his lack of enthusiasm.

"It's no mistake that this gift was given to someone close to you. Especially now, at the brink of the Apocalypse, Katherine's abilities would have been an asset to our side of the war. We would not need to appear before you to convey information, to communicate with you in battle."

Dean groaned. "I'm not loving the past tense here, Cas."

The angel's face fell, and he got back to his feet.

"It is regrettable that we are only discovering this information now. Alastair was also in the farmhouse, and I fear that as he was locked in an altercation with Katherine when Anna revealed her grace, he will have noticed its lack of effect. I have no doubt that he will bring the news back to Lilith."

"Woah, hey—Lilith?" Sam stood up too, letting go of Kat's hand. "Why would he do that?"

"Lilith wants to bring the Apocalypse. The both of you, along with Heaven, are trying to prevent it. Anything that makes that mission easier is a threat to her. Katherine is a tool that she cannot afford to ignore."

"She's not a tool," Sam yelled, "she's a person! And she's in danger!"

"Which is why we must act quickly," Castiel agreed. He turned back to Kat, his frown deepening. "Katherine, I cannot allow you to go home."

"What?"

Kat ignored Sam's noise of protest and sprung off of the bed. She rounded on Castiel, advancing with increasing rage. Castiel even took a step back.

"What the hell do you mean you can't _allow me_ to go home? It's not up to you! I've been missing for like a week, and I've got a fucking life to live. Just try and stop me from going back!"

"That would be inadvisable," he replied. "It will not take the demons long to identify you. As soon as they do, your friends and family will be in danger."

"That's exactly why I wanna go home!"

"The angels will take the necessary steps to protect your home. But it's far too predictable for you to…"

"If you can keep my family safe there, why the fuck can't I go be safe there too?"

"Without your presence, it is unlikely that Lilith will dispatch any higher-level demons to your home. If she knows you're there, she will not hold back her wrath."

"Unlikely," Kat spat. "Right. And what happens when Lilith sends some big wig like Alastair to torture my mom to force me out of hiding, huh? Your low-level protection detail gonna be able to handle that? Cause I'd rather do that myself."

Castiel gave a long suffering sigh and turned to look at the brothers. Dean quickly moved around the bed to usher Kat a few steps back.

"Alright, ease up, Kat. Let's not make the angel shit his pants."

"No! This whole thing is bullshit! This kind of crap never works! Distance doesn't work! Hiding does not work!"

"Kat, just think about it for a second," said Sam.

"No, you think about it for a second! I am not going to lose my mom!"

"The angels will take care of her," Sam insisted. "She'll be fine. But for just a second, think about what it would mean if you stayed with Dean and me. We'd be one step ahead of the seals. We could know where we needed to go instead of just stumbling across these battles on accident."

"That won't be possible."

Sam paused to squint at Castiel, who was shaking his head. "Why not?"

"Katherine cannot stay with you. Your day to lives make it far too dangerous, demons aside."

"We're not letting you take her!"

"It's not up to you, Sam. Katherine has to be protected at all costs."

"Cas, listen," Dean said, raising a hand. "I know you mean well, but you can't protect kids from everything. You gotta let 'em live their lives, you know?"

Castiel turned to him blankly.

"Katherine is not a child. By my calculations she turned twenty-eight yesterday."

"No shit?" Dean frowned, turning around to look at Kat. "Well, it's an expression, but uh…Happy Belated."

Kat was not amused. She glowered at Castiel over Dean's shoulder.

"So if I'm not _allowed_ to stay, and I'm not _allowed_ to go, what exactly did you plan on doing with me?"

"I will escort you to one of Heaven's safe houses. The demons will not be able to track you there, and you'll be safe from all outside influences. I assure you, Katherine. You will be well cared for."

"Oh, hell no," she roared, and Dean had to grab her round the waist. "I am not going to live in a hamster ball!"

Cas squinted at her, baffled. "I apologize, that does not make…"

"Will I be able to contact my mother from inside your safe room?"

He sighed reluctantly. "No."

Kat jabbed a finger into his chest with each of her words.

"Then I'm not going."

"Alright, let's take it easy," said Dean, pulling Kat out of her intimidation tactics. "What if we could find some kind of middle ground?"

"No! Dean, I'm not going to…"

"Just trust me, okay?"

Kat pouted at him, but remained silent.

"There's gotta be some kind of compromise here," he continued. "You know, not home but also not heaven's safety bubble. What if we found Kat someplace to stay? Somewhere off the grid, low danger, but still has phone service?"

Castiel considered him, and Sam was sure that it was only because it was his brother that Cas nodded.

"My superiors may be swayed by the appropriate agreement."

"Stellar," said Dean, clapping his hands. "So we'll take her back to Bobby's, and…"

"No."

"Why not?" Sam demanded, and Castiel nearly rolled his eyes.

"The purpose of this arrangement is to keep Katherine hidden. Wherever she stays cannot be someplace you frequent every other week. Bobby Singer's is out of the question."

"Alright, we'll think of something!" Dean said loudly, waving his hands. "But we just got out of one tango, can we maybe wait a couple hours before we get into another? Let the girl take a nap at least. We'll let you know when we've got something."

Castiel didn't seem thrilled by this idea, but he let it rest. Sam had a feeling he hadn't come prepared for Kat to put up a fight. Whatever kind of inquiring he'd done, it certainly hadn't been enough if he expected her to come quietly.

"I'll visit again tomorrow morning," he said with a short nod. "I know this is difficult, Katherine. I truly am sorry."

"Are you?" she challenged. "I thought Anna said you were physically incapable."

"She's correct to an extent. But I can recognize an unfavorable situation. And I do wish that it did not have to be this way."

"Right." Kat nodded. "Well, thanks anyway."

"I'll return soon."

In a rush of air, Castiel vanished.

"God, what a fucking prick," Kat said instantly. "Come on, let's hit the road."

"What?"

Sam watched as she picked up her jacket, already headed for the motel door.

"We better split fast. Make sure you've got your hex bags, we'll make a couple detours, and we can be in California in two, three days tops."

"Woah, Kat, we're not going anywhere."

Kat stopped dead. She turned to look at Dean, and Sam was thankful that he wasn't on the receiving end of her glare.

"What do you mean we're not going anywhere?"

"We're taking you to a safe house. Did you not get that part?"

"No, you told me to _trust you_. I assumed that meant we were just stalling him until we could make a break for it."

"No, when I said 'trust me' I just meant I wanted you to trust me."

"Dean, why the fuck would I trust you?" she spat. "Why would I trust either of you? All you do is lie and continue to drag my life farther down the drain!"

"That's a little harsh," Dean scoffed.

"It's not. But whatever. You don't wanna take me, I'll go by myself. Sam, give me my keys." She held out her hand expectantly. When Sam didn't move, her death ray glare changed targets. "Sam. Give me my keys. Now."

"Kat, Lilith is serious business. Maybe we should think about this."

"I am not going to think about this! How many times do I have to say this? I am not going to think about any plan that involves me hiding in some far off corner of the world while my mom is a sitting duck for a pack of bloodthirsty demons! I am not letting her get hurt on my watch! So if you don't want me to drop kick you all over this goddamn state, Sam Winchester, you will give me my fucking car keys!"

Sam took several steps back from her. On some level, he was more terrified now than he had been with angel and demons standing on either side of him. But he tried to hold his ground, if only for Katherine's sake.

"Fine," she snapped, turning toward the door. "I'll get a gun!"

She stormed outside, and Dean slammed the door shut behind her. He leaned his back against it and shot Sam a panicky look.

"You don't think she'll actually shoot the door down, right?"

"Wouldn't put it past her," he said shortly. "Also wouldn't put it past her to steal some cash and start hitchhiking."

"Well, guess it's a good thing we're in the middle of nowhere."

They waited for a few minutes, but Kat did not shoot Dean through the door. She did come back screaming and kicking, and Sam was sure that she might end up kicking the door down. But an employee came by to escort her away, and her curses receded away from their room. Sam felt bad, but mostly for the manager that got in her way.

"You really think this is what's best for her?" Sam asked, sitting down at the table by the window. "Kat had a point. Lilith could always go for her family as bait. Wouldn't be hard."

"I don't know," Dean sighed. "She'd have to want her bad to do something like that. I mean, if Kat's not in the game, why waste the resources luring her out when she could just keep breaking seals?"

"I guess. But just cause Kat's not with us doesn't put her out of the game. She could be talking to angels and calling us, or sending up smoke signals…"

"What's your point?"

"My point is that I can't think of any way to make Kat seem like less of a threat. Lilith's gonna want her either way."

"That chick is a threat," Dean grumbled. "She's freaking nuclear."

Sam laughed, but it did not make him feel any better. Dean must have noticed, because he passed over his discarded beer and sat down in the seat opposite him.

"Look, Kat will come around. Her whole world just got rocked, it makes sense she wants to go home. Let her sit on it. She'll get that this is our best option."

"You don't know Kat like I do." Sam took a sip from his beer, and looked out the window. "What are we even gonna do with her?"

"Don't worry about that," said Dean with a grin. "I know exactly where we can take her."


	26. Chapter 26

"I still don't see why this is necessary."

Kat's voice was hoarse from underuse. She hadn't spoken in hours—had refused to speak, in fact. It was only out of desperation that she was breaking the silence now.

"Safety," Dean said gruffly.

He glanced in the rearview mirror, probably to make sure that Sam was still following them in the Prius. He reached for the radio, then retracted his hand. No music. That had been part of their agreement before she got in the Impala. If he put on the radio, she was going to make his life a living hell, and she meant that with all the significance it could have to him. Dean had learned better than to push her.

"I am safe," Kat argued. She slid moodily down in her seat. "That's the whole point of a safe house."

"Can't be too careful. Don't want the demons getting their hands on you."

"Sam gave me the anti-possession charm. I'm fine."

"Charms can break. This way you don't have to worry about it."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Sorry, Kit Kat. Mandated by God."

She rolled her eyes and sank farther down in her seat. She hated the Winchesters.

It had not been easy for them to get her to agree to the trip. Kat's first choice was still going straight home. But as Sam had pointed out the previous night when she shoved him into a wall, Kat wasn't more important than the entire apocalypse. Luring Kat out by hurting her family would be a bad move for Lilith, a complete waste of resources when the end of the world was on the line. If Kat kept her head down and let the angels do their jobs, there would be no reason to mess with her mom.

Kat wasn't completely comfortable with the situation, but there didn't seem to be much of a choice. Castiel had made it clear that her only options were the Winchester's safe house or the Lord Almighty's holy house arrest. She'd chosen the one with WiFi.

They'd left the next morning, but Kat still wasn't allowed to drive her own car. The boys didn't trust her not to high tail it to California first chance she got. That hadn't been her plan, but she could see where they were coming from. Still, she'd been so furious that she wasn't speaking to either of them unless it was absolutely necessary.

Dean pulled off the road and parked in front of a small strip mall. There were only one or two other cars there. Sam had not followed them into the parking lot.

"Where is he?" Kat demanded.

"Getting food. Will you relax?" Dean stepped out of the car, leaning his elbows on top of the hood. "Sam did his homework. This place is legit. You'll be in good hands."

Kat wrinkled her nose, looking up at the tattoo parlor. "This is stupid."

"Wait a second," he chuckled, and he turned to her with a smug smile. "Don't tell me Little Miss Badass is afraid of needles."

"I am not afraid of needles. That doesn't mean I like the idea of being stabbed repeatedly for an hour while someone fills my skin with ink."

"You need me to hold your hand?"

"You want me to break it?"

Dean was still laughing as he hopped up on the curb. He held the door open for her and then followed her into the shop.

"Hey there!" a bright employee greeted them as they looked around. "How can I help you two?"

"Hi," said Dean with a charming smile. "My brother actually called ahead. My girlfriend and I were interested in getting matching tattoos?"

He slipped an arm around Kat's waist. Kat had to restrain herself from dislocating his shoulder.

"Aw! Definitely," the artist said, their smile doubling at Dean's words. "Do you guys have any idea what you want? Just some names, song lyrics, faces, pictures…"

"Actually, I've already got mine. We're just looking to make it a matching set."

Dean unbuttoned the top of his shirt, tugging the flannel aside to show off his left pectoral. The tattoo was the same design as the pendant—a black pentagram encircled by a ring of fire, printed in stark black ink over smooth tan skin.

The artist pulled out a camera, and began snapping pictures of the design. Kat doubted whether that many pictures were truly necessary. She'd never gotten a tattoo, but she was certain no one needed a headshot of Dean to do their job properly. But he took it all in stride with a sparkling grin.

"Alright," the employee said, after capturing every angle of Dean's face and chest on film. "That should be an easy enough print to do. You sure you're alright, sweetheart? You're kind of quiet."

Dean gave her a pointed look, and Kat plastered on a smile.

"I'm just a little nervous. I'm not sure if you can tell, but uh…I haven't done this before."

"Well there's nothing to worry about," they explained, patting one of the chairs for her to sit down. "We'll just go over a few things first, and I can get you finished before the afternoon's out. Have you put any thought into where you want this?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I know." She turned back to Dean, giving him her own sharp look. "You can head out if you want. I'll be okay."

"Oh, well I wouldn't want to miss the best part," he drawled, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Besides, it's nothing I haven't seen before, babe."

He winked, and Kat's eyes narrowed down to slits.

"If there isn't a bacon cheeseburger waiting for me when I get out, I can promise you're never going to see anything ever again."

Dean pouted, but at her insistence, headed for the door.

"It was nice meeting you," he said to the artist. "Sweetheart, I'm gonna call my brother and make sure you get that lunch, alright? I'm by the car if you need me."

"Yes, _dear."_

The employee let out a low whistle as the door swung shut once more.

"Do I need to be worried about you, hon? Because I'm very good at making up excuses. If you don't want this tattoo, I won't do it."

"No, no, it's fine," Kat assured them. "I want the tattoo. It's just been a long car ride and I'm sick of him breathing down my neck."

"Completely understandable," they said, nodding in agreement. "Though, all due respect, I would do terrible, terrible things to have a guy like that breathing on my neck. You snagged a real catch."

"Yeah. He's a real keeper."

When Kat emerged a couple hours later, Sam had returned from his errand. He and Dean were sitting on the hood of the Impala, take out bags scattered between them, burgers in one hand and sodas in the other. Both Dean dropped the moment he saw her.

"Alright! Barbie's all tatted up! Let's see this thing!"

He was more amused than anything when she tried to ignore him, walking straight passed them to throw her bag in the passenger seat.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

Kat walked back around, making a grab for her food. But Dean snatched it up and held it high over her head.

"Come on," he goaded. "At least tell us where you got it."

She seethed and, before he knew what was coming, latched onto his arm with an iron grip. He yelped as she yanked it down at a painfully awkward angle, gouged his fingers with her nails, and pried the take out bag from his hands. With a complimentary kick to his shin, she stormed back into the Impala. The door slammed behind her.

"Motherfucker," Dean grunted, shaking out his arm. "God, I'm gonna be so glad when we dump this bitch."

"Why do you always have to make it worse?" asked Sam. "We're abandoning her in the middle of the country, taking her car, and forcing her to get a tattoo that she doesn't want. Kat's got it bad enough."

"Well our lives aren't exactly butterflies and rainbows. We're keeping her safe. Least she could do is suck it up and listen to some damn Radiohead."

"Dean, you didn't…"

"No! I haven't played any of my damn music, just like she asked me to! And it sucks! Why can't she just ride with you?"

Sam sighed pitifully. "Dean, you know why she won't ride with me."

Dean huffed, and looked back to the tattoo parlor.

He'd told Sam that Kat would come around to the idea of a safe house, and he was sure she would. But it would take a lot longer than the time they had with her. She would barely talk to them, wouldn't even look at them if she could help it. And glad as Dean was to be shot of her, he knew her anger was breaking Sammy up inside.

Dean reached over and slapped his brother on the back.

"Come on. Only a couple more hours tell we get there."

They cleared up the food and climbed back into their cars. The sun was preparing to touchdown on the horizon, and the wind pushed against them as they sped down the highways. Kat had rolled down one of the windows, leaning her head on the side of the car as her hair whipped around wildly. It was distracting, and really fucking annoying while he was driving. But he let her stay that way as a peace offering.

Finally, they reached their destination. It looked different now than it had the first time they'd gone. Everything had to be rebuilt after the fire. Now it was shiny and new, a fortress from the foundation up. He and Sam had stopped by to help build it for a day or two, but it hadn't been finished before he'd been dragged to Hell.

Dean smiled up at the finished product. It was still the same old Roadhouse.

"You want me to live in a bar?" Kat asked, looking up at the building with disdain.

"This ain't just a bar," he defended. "The Roadhouse is probably the safest place in the state. And I doubt anyone's gonna come looking for you out here. We haven't seen Ellen in like a year."

He stopped at that. A year. They hadn't seen or heard from the Harvelles in a year. Hadn't stopped by, hadn't called, hadn't emailed. Nothing. Sure, they'd been pretty goddamn busy, but he doubted that Ellen was going to see it that way.

Sam shot Dean a nervous look as he climbed out of the Prius. They both seemed to be thinking about the same thing. The Roadhouse was the safest place for Kat, but if Ellen was waiting inside, it might not be the safest place for the Winchesters.

For some reason, Dean was surprised to find that there were actually people inside. Half the stools at the bar were taken, a few of the tables, and there was a group of dudes playing pool in the back. It was like a real bar. He'd forgotten that wasn't just a front. But in all those people, there was no sign of Ellen, no one who looked familiar.

He started toward the bar, ready to ask to speak to the manager, when the end of a double barrel shotgun jabbed into his back.

"Don't you take another step you shapeshifting son of a bitch."

Dean groaned. The worst part about coming back from the dead was definitely the explaining.

"Ellen, wait," Sam pleaded, somewhere off to Dean's right. "I know it's hard to believe, but…"

"That means you too." There was a click from another gun, and Sam quickly stopped speaking. "Now I don't know what you assholes had in mind coming in here, but let me tell you. You picked the wrong bar to drink at."

"Ellen, would you just put the gun down?" Dean asked. "Sammy's at least. I know I'm supposed to be dead, but you know he ain't faking."

"I don't know anything," she said, jabbing him with the shotgun. "Far as I'm concerned, you're both fakes. Winchesters are dead for all I know. They don't like to keep in touch."

"Hey, Ellen," called one of the men from the bar. "You need a hand?"

"Mind your own damn business, Earl."

The man shrugged and went back to his drink. No one else looked all that concerned. Either everyone in the bar was a hunter, or the owner pulling guns on her patrons wasn't an unusual sight in the Roadhouse.

"Look, Ellen, I'm sorry," said Sam. "We should have called. Things got crazy and…a lot of shit went down. But we can explain."

"You certainly bullshit like a Winchester," Ellen scoffed. "I told you to stop talking."

"It's us, Ellen," said Dean over his shoulder. "You wanna kick the crap out of us for leaving, that's fine. But let's put the heavy artillery away."

"You want me to believe you're Sam and Dean, you better start proving it."

"Okay," Sam said quickly. "Okay, I'm—I'm gonna reach into my back pocket, take out my silver knife. Alright, Ellen?"

Dean couldn't see what was going on, but he could hear Sam hiss as he sliced his own skin. There weren't any gunshots, so Ellen must've been considering them anyway. Sam paced slowly over to him, and passed the blade into Dean's hand.

"Really?" Dean asked. "The same knife? Isn't that a little unsanitary?"

"A lot more sanitary than your guts on my bar floor," Ellen said from behind him.

Again, she hit him with the shotgun. Dean so desperately wanted to turn around and wrestle it out of her hands. He might have if he didn't know she was double-fisting. But he also knew from experience that Harvelle women knew their way around a shotgun.

"Alright, alright. I'm going."

He flipped the knife in his hand, wiping it off on the edge of his shirt. Then he pulled up his sleeve, clenched his jaw, and slit the back of his forearm.

"There, are we good? Not shifters, not revenants, and before you ask, neither of us is packing a damn demon. We got the tattoos to prove it."

There were a few seconds of silence before the shotgun dropped from his back. Dean didn't even get a chance to sigh in relief.

The next second he'd been yanked around and a strong hand slapped him clear across the face.

"Fuck! Jesus, Ellen!"

"What the hell is wrong with you idiots?" she demanded, poking him in the chest. He was relieved to see she'd dropped the gun. "You just come waltzing in here after a year like everything is fine and dandy? No warning?"

"What were we supposed to do, huh?"

"You're supposed to pick up your damn phone! And you!" She rounded on Sam, eyes crazed, and grabbed him by the front of the shirt. "I had to hear from Bobby that your brother was gone and you'd run off on your own? You didn't think that was something I might wanna know?"

"Ow! Sorry! I'm sorry! Like I said, it—it was a rough year."

"Sam Winchester, you haven't seen rough by a mile. Watch me."

Ellen released him, pushing him back several steps. The bar had quieted down since she'd started yelling, and she turned to glare at the crowd of customers.

"What do you think you're looking at?"

There was a general grumble as everyone turned back to what they were doing. Ellen walked her shot gun and pistol back around to the bar, giving them time to shake out their injuries. It wasn't until she got back that she caught sight of Kat.

"And who the hell is this?"

"Me?" Kat grinned and crossed her arms over her chest. "Right now just someone who's really glad she hasn't pissed you off."

Ellen cracked a smile.

"Makes you far too smart to be hanging out with these two idjits."

"Yeah, well I'm kind of out of options."

"Great." Ellen huffed, turning her glare back on the boys. "What kind of shit did you two step in this time?"

"Is there someplace we can talk?" Dean asked. "In private?"

"I got a room in back. Just let me grab a bottle. Got a feeling I'm gonna need a damn drink."

"Yeah, you're not wrong."

Ellen led the way behind the bar, taking them down the hall to a spare room. It was a mismatched nightmare—part office, park break room, part storage closet. But Ellen walked right through the clutter. She produced four glasses out of a cardboard box and dropped them on an empty table, taking a seat so she could start pouring.

"A lot of paying customers out there," Sam observed, taking the drink she passed him. "Guess business is good."

"Good as it can be," said Ellen. "Honestly, after that fire I thought about calling it quits. Figured no one in their right mind'd want to drink at a place that's been burned down by demons."

"Wouldn't blame 'em," Dean agreed.

"But wouldn't you know it, minute I opened my doors they were flooding back in. I had to deal with a good amount of shit for helping you boys let an army of demons out of hell. But at the end of the day, this place is probably the safest place in the state. Made sure it was when we rebuilt."

"Yeah, that's kind of why we're here," said Dean.

"Course you are," she scoffed. "Only show up when you need something from me. So what is it? Who you running from?"

"Not us. Kat."

"Hi," she said, waving a hand.

"Nice to meet you," said Ellen skeptically. "Who's bad side you get on?"

"Bunch of demons," Dean explained. "Long story."

"Well you better shorten it up, pretty boy."

Dean scrunched his nose, offended, but Sam quickly stepped in.

"Alright, uh...Ellen, this is Katherine Moore. She a hunter, and one of my friends from Stanford."

Kat pulled a face at the word "friend" that Sam didn't catch.

"I used to date Kat's sister, Jessica. She's the one I told you about, the one who was killed by Azazel. After that, their dad was killed by a crocota, and Kat got roped into hunting. I...well, I sorta went AWOL when I went hunting with Dean. I didn't stick around to explain or apologize, so...she was pretty pissed. She ran into Dean on the highway a couple months back, just after..."

"Sam," said Ellen, holding up a hand. "Shorter."

"Kat can talk to angels," Dean said tersely. "The demons want her dead so she can't help us stop the Apocalypse."

Ellen stared at him. She looked about ready to start swinging again, if Dean hadn't kept his straight face. He smiled grimly. No jokes. Her eyes flicked to Sam, who might break easier. But even Sam had to shrug.

"Angels?" she asked.

"Uh-huh," Dean confirmed.

"Apocalypse?"

"Yup."

"Right. You two are really struggling to outdo yourselves huh?"

"You still want the short version?" asked Sam.

"Don't get smart with me."

Ellen picked up her glass, draining it in one smooth gulp. She topped herself off, then sat back in her chair.

"Alright. Give it to me straight, boys."

It took an hour or two to explain it in full—the drama between Kat and Sam, everything they knew about Lilith, all Dean was willing to reveal about Hell. Sam's half of the story was highly edited, skipping out on the parts where he super-flexed his demon superpowers and screwed his demon girlfriend.

Dean stared at the table whenever Sam was talking. He didn't trust himself to keep that straight face of his, or abstain from any nasty comments. He also didn't trust Kat, but he was surprised when she didn't say a word. No snorting, no glaring, no passive aggressive sighs. She just sat in her chair and stared at her drink. She only moved when she needed a refill. She didn't even interrupt once.

Ellen listened to them, no bullshit. She asked the right questions, followed their logic clean. She was sore about missing out on so much, but Dean figured they were in the clear for the most part. If anyone could prioritize a load of world ending crap, it was Ellen. The woman was made of steel, and that was definitely something they could use more of.

By the time they'd finished, it was dark out. The music was still running in the bar, the customers even louder than before. If there was one thing hunters were good at, it was drinking late into the night. Dean was surprised anyone ever left the Roadhouse at all. Ellen probably had to kick 'em out herself. Maybe that was why no one was shocked to see her whip out the shotgun.

"Well, I know I said you boys stepped in it," Ellen sighed over an empty glass, "but it really sounds like this shit stepped in you."

"You're telling me," Dean sighed. "And the angels like us about as much."

"They still won't tell us why they pulled Dean from Hell," Sam added. "Just that it's destiny. Then they turn around and say that they're following orders, which means somebody up there's gotta be making a choice. I mean, you can't have both."

"Yeah, destiny always gives me the heeby-jeebies," said Ellen. "I don't like anything trying to tell me I'm not in control. Don't even think about it, Dean."

She held up a hand before his smart ass comment could make it out of his mouth. Dean grinned and nodded in ascent.

"And where does destiny get off sticking to you?" she asked, turning to Kat. "Far as I can tell you ain't fond enough of either of these boys to consider close."

Kat shrugged. That was it.

Ellen narrowed her eyes. "What, demons got your tongue?"

"I don't know what the hell is going on," she said, for the first time in hours. "This is all so beyond anything that I'm ready to comprehend. But everyone around me has made it very clear that I don't have a say in any of this. So. I guess that's that."

She downed the rest of her glass in one shot and slammed it back on the table. Sam shrank in his seat with guilt, and Dean bit back a sigh. He was tired of Kat's bitching, truly. It wasn't hard to grasp that none of them wanted to be swimming in this shit. She wasn't the only one who'd drawn a short straw. She just too stubborn to see it any other way.

Kat glared at him from across the table, until Dean finally looked away. It wasn't his fault she'd decided to go psycho on the side of the road and hunt his brother down. It was Kat who'd made the decision to help them with the Apocalypse, all on her own. It wasn't something Dean did that gave her all these heavenly superpowers that put her in danger. They hadn't dragged her into this.

At least, that's what he was gonna tell himself.

"Well that's sure one dumbass point of view," Ellen scoffed at Kat. "Aren't you supposed to be some kind of badass? Cause that defeatist shit ain't gonna fly around here."

"So you'll take her?" Sam asked quickly. "She can stay?"

"Provided she can pass the interview. I ain't taking any freeloaders, and I don't need another self-pitying hunter taking up space in my bar."

"Self-pitying?"

That had clearly struck a nerve, and Kat sat up straight in her seat. Dean did not want to be collateral damage in this throw down.

"Excuse the fuck out of me if I'm a little pissed off. I can't go home, I can't hunt, I can't work—all cause some douchebag with a halo decided I was part of someone else's destiny. My whole life just got razed, so yeah, I'm a little down and out."

"Yeah, and I just found out we're on the brink of the end of the world. You don't see me bellyaching and asking for a couple days to sulk in my whiskey."

"I am not sulking."

"Well you sure as hell ain't fighting."

"You don't want me fighting. Trust me."

Kat was snarling, leaning completely forward in her seat now. Ellen cocked a challenging eyebrow, completely at ease.

Sam cleared his throat.

"What she means is, uh…she's tough. Kat didn't ask for any of this, but we got her involved and she's dealing. Pretty well considering last month she was only hunting part time and running her gym."

"Gym?" Ellen turned back to Kat. "What kind?"

"Women's facility. I teach self-defense."

"And it's your place? Most hunters don't have day jobs."

"Are you waiting for me to say I'm not most hunters?"

"Kat," Sam scolded, and she huffed.

"Gym came first. Been running it for about five years. Before the rest of my life went to shit."

"You any good?" asked Ellen.

Kat did not answer, and Sam laughed.

"Kat's incredible. She could take either one of us out if she wanted to. She's handed my ass to me more than once, and the first time she met Dean she took him down in two shots."

"Second time," Kat offered, glowering at him.

Dean glared back.

"After I was in Hell for four months. Thank you."

"No need to get pissy," said Ellen with a smirk. "Alright, so you can handle yourself. You do your own books?"

"Yeah," said Kat with a shrug. "Two-year business degree, got all my certifications. My mom retired to help out when I'm hunting, but it's my place."

"Damn. Even I gotta admit that's impressive."

"So…she can stay?" asked Sam again.

"Fine by me," said Ellen. All the hostility was gone, and she shrugged easily. "If you can count down a register and take down a drunk, you're hired. Besides, I ain't gonna say no to a face like that."

"Excuse me?" asked Kat.

"You're a knock out. Girl like you asks a man if he wants another beer, he's gonna say yes."

"Ellen," Dean warned, careful to keep the laughter out of his voice.

"What? I'm not pimping her out. It's just good for business." She got to her feet, spinning the cap back onto the bottle. "I got a guest room upstairs. You work your way, you can stay as long as you like. You got your stuff?"

"Yeah, it's all in my car."

"Which you are not keeping." Dean wasn't fazed by her death glare. "Same deal, Tinkerbell. Can't have you going all California gold rush the moment we turn our backs. We'll make sure your tin can stays safe."

"Fine," she spat. "Am I allowed to get my shit or do you wanna play bellhop too?"

He rolled his eyes, waving for Sam to go with her. Sam went to take Kat by the arm, but she ripped himself out of his reach and stormed out of the room before he could touch her. Resigned, he threw Ellen a piss poor smile and followed after her.

Ellen gave a low whistle.

"Well she's a firecracker ain't she?"

"Yeah. Sorry in advance."

"I doubt she'll give me a problem. Seems like it's just you two she's angling to kill."

Dean had to agree. He didn't like dropping his problems off on Ellen and running away, but hopefully Kat would calm down after they were a good hundred miles away from her. That seemed to be what she wanted most—to get away from them.

"Still," he said, helping her clean up their glasses. "Kat's Sam's problem, not yours. You didn't have to take her. So thank you."

"It's like you boys said. Business is good, and to be honest, I could use the help."

"Yeah, speaking of that," Dean started, as if the question had only just occurred to him. "Where's...?"

"Not here," Ellen said tersely. "Told you. She's been hunting since that damn ghost hunt you took her on. I told her I wanted her home, she got in her car and didn't look back. Last time I saw her I was stitching up her back after she tried to take on four ghouls by herself. Only comes round here when she's on death's damn door."

Dean lapsed into silence. That was another problem that hadn't technically been his fault. Ellen's daughter, Jo, had always wanted to be a hunter—just like her dad. That was something Dean could relate to. Sure, would Jo eventually end up hunting on the road like her old man? With a passion like hers? Almost definitely. Had he and Sam sped things along by working with her on that H. H. Holmes case in Philadelphia? Absolutely.

So did that make it his fault that Ellen was running the Roadhouse by herself, worried sick about her only daughter who was around the country hunting ghosts without back up?

He didn't want to think about it.

They walked out front to help Kat with her stuff. It wasn't a lot; she'd been banking on a short vamp hunt in Virginia, not a two-week long haul, and definitely not permanent relocation. She had one duffle for clothes, and another for hunting essentials. She only took enough for basic protection. It was unspoken given that she wasn't allowed to leave the Roadhouse on a hunt.

Ellen said goodbye to the boys, hugging them both and smacking them again for good measure. She made them promise to call and check in—if not for her sake, then Kat's. Then she gracefully disappeared with Kat's bags, leaving the three of them to an awkward goodbye.

Sam seemed too nervous to say anything, so Dean took the lead.

"Well, Kat, it's been a ride."

"A ride," she echoed with a bitter smile. "Let's just call it what it is. It sucked, it's over, and honestly thank God. For that anyway."

Even Dean had to blink at her bluntness. But Kat didn't bat an eye.

"Well, good luck with the Apocalypse. I doubt the angels are gonna let me leave before the big showdown, so I guess I'll catch you on the other side. Or we'll all die, in which case, it was super great catching up with you. Bye."

Sam tried to call her back. Kat did not listen. She held up a hand in farewell, not even bothering to wave or wiggle her fingers, and then turned back into the bar.

Maybe there was a part of Dean that felt bad. He knew she hadn't asked for any of this, and wouldn't be stuck with it if she'd steered clear of them. Maybe her mentor had been right. The Winchesters were cursed goods, and they flushed everyone else's lives down the toilet. But even if it was true, it wasn't enough to make him go after her. When it came down to it, Kat was a headache he was glad to shake.

Dean moved to climb into the Impala, but caught sight of his brother's face. Sam was staring up at the Roadhouse, dejected and depressed, his eyes in full puppy dog mode. He hadn't seen Sam this close to tears since…well, since Dean had come back from Hell. He was a wreck.

That did it for Dean.

"Hold on, man."

He patted Sam on the shoulder, and jogged into the Roadhouse.

Dean caught her right before she disappeared down the hall. She stopped abruptly at the sight of him, shoving her hands into her pockets. That wasn't the reaction he was expecting. He'd been prepared for her to bolt and slam a door in his face. But when it processed, he had to smirk.

"Nice try, Blondie." He held out his hand, beckoning. "Hand 'em over."

Kat deflated, and passed her car keys back to him.

"I don't want you driving him."

 _"Him?"_

"I'm serious. I don't care if the Devil himself is tracking your VIN number. I don't want you driving my car, Dean."

"I got it," he insisted, rolling his head back. "Sam'll drive it back to Bobby's, and he'll take care of it. And I'm telling you that as a sign of good faith. Do not hitchhike to South Dakota just to start shit."

"Fine," she huffed, crossing her arms. "Just tell Bobby not to throw my keys in that stupid valet box he's got. I'll never be able to find them again."

"Shit." He chuckled in spite of himself, mostly in disbelief. "You really were thorough, weren't ya?"

"Yeah. Is there anything else you need to take from me? Apparently I've got a bar inventory to memorize."

"We'll get out of your hair, just uh…I just need one more favor."

"Favor?" she echoed skeptically.

"Yeah. Go back out there and hug my dumbass brother."

"Dean…"

"See, me? I don't really need that kinda crap. But Sammy, he gets weird if he doesn't get enough hugs. He gets pissy, he cries, and with all this angel crap going on, I'd just rather not deal with it."

"You've gotta be kidding me."

Kat turned again to head down the hallway, but Dean grabbed her arm. He released her the moment she stopped, but held his ground.

"Look, Kat. I know you're not our biggest fan. And maybe it is our fault that you got dragged into this. But you've got over worse. In the past two months, you and Sam have been back and forth so many times I lost track. And right now, you're about to get your wish and not see us again for God knows how long. So I'm just asking you to forget about all that shit for two minutes. At least go say goodbye."

He held her keys out to her, watching hopefully.

Kat didn't look happy by a longshot. But whatever little bit of decency she had in there, under all her bitter bullshit, he seemed to have caught its attention. She frowned at him but took her keys, and pushed past him to the front yard.

The Roadhouse lights lit up the makeshift parking lot, throwing white, red, and yellow over everything in sight. Kat spotted Sam immediately. He was the only one outside, leaning against his brother's car, head hanging low. He looked so forlorn she could practically feel his sadness from the door. It almost pissed her off. But the right thing to do was play nice.

"Hey," she said, and his head snapped up. "Guess you'll need these more than I do."

Kat tossed him the keys, which he still managed to catch despite his surprise.

"Oh, uh, yeah…thanks."

"So…" She leaned on her Prius across from him, not meeting his eyes. "I know I'm not allowed to go back to California, but…if you could go check on my mom, I'd appreciate it. She's kind of freaking out."

"Of course," he said, so quickly it was almost a new word. "Is she…? Am I allowed to ask how it went?"

"Ha, you mean the conversation I had with her explaining that the Apocalypse is real, an A-list demon wants my head on a platter, and I'm not coming home any time soon? Yeah, that—that did not go well."

She laughed dryly, scuffing the ground with the heel of her boots. She was thankful that Sam didn't know what to say. It gave her a few seconds to marinate the words that came out next.

"I think she might hate me even more than she did when I left with Marcus."

"Kat," Sam said softly. "Your mom does not hate you."

She hated that his reassurance made her feel better. She hated that she needed someone to make her feel better. She hated that she wanted to cry.

Kat tilted her head back to look at the stars. Even with the bar's lights, you could see the sky for miles in Nebraska. It made her feel tiny, which only made her feel worse. There were so many people on this stupid fucking planet. She'd already lost Jessica. She'd lost her father and Marcus and any semblance of sanity she had in her normal life. She'd saved people, helped people—good people. So why did she have to give it all up? Why was she the one crying in the middle of nowhere because some demons wanted her dead for something she didn't even know she could do? Crying because she was too far from home, and what was left of her family was too furious to speak to her?

"You know," she sniffled at a passing cloud, "for all the shit I give you about lying to me…I did the same thing. I did the exact same thing to my mom. I just decided she had too much to worry about, that she didn't need to know the truth. Even when I went off to fight it face to face. Even when I was sure I was an hour away from dying."

"You didn't want her to worry about you," Sam reasoned.

"No. I mean, yeah, but…mostly I didn't want her to criticize me. To control me. I just figured that I—I knew what I was doing was right. Was helping people. And I didn't want her trying to change my mind. So…I guess I'm the pot and you're the kettle."

It was as close to an apology as she was going to get. She was too frustrated to come up with anything else. She was furious with him, furious with herself, furious with every angel looking down on them and not giving a damn about what they were giving up. The whole world fucking sucked.

"I'm sorry," said Sam. She was tired of hearing it, but jealous of how easy it came to him. "Kat, I really am. I never meant for you to get wrapped up in this. If I'd known how this case would work out…"

"I know you wouldn't have called me," Kat assured him. "You couldn't have known. Besides, you heard Castiel. It's no one's fault. It was just _destiny_."

She threw up some jazz hands on the word, making Sam snort.

"I know you don't believe that," he said, and she shrugged.

"Well I didn't believe in angels or heaven either. Who's to say? Maybe it wasn't chance that I just happened to find your brother on the side of the road when he popped out of the ground. I thought he was a paranoid douchebag, but…maybe it really is all connected."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

They sat in silence for a while longer, not looking at each other. Kat played with her anti-possession charm, which she'd opted to wear despite her new tattoo. Sam was jingling her car keys in his hands like a nervous girl on her first date. When the sound faded, Kat prepared for him to speak.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Hm?"

"What was it like? Seeing Anna?"

Kat closed her eyes. Her memories from yesterday seemed so fuzzy. She would have blamed her concussion, if Castiel hadn't blessed it out of her body. Maybe it was the close encounter that had fried her brain, or maybe angels themselves were just that hard to pin down, almost abstract.

"It was beautiful," she whispered, grasping at the faded images in her brain. "It was less what I could see and more like…how I felt. Like waking up after a good dream and forgetting it all the instant you realize you're awake. I just remember feeling safe, feeling happy, or…not powerful, exactly, but…I knew everything I needed to know. Everything I ever would need to know. And then when she disappeared—the regular world just seemed so dark. It was like I couldn't see at all. I felt like I'd never be able to breathe again."

Sam shook his head in awe. "It sounds incredible."

"Yeah. Right up to the part where I vomited and passed out."

They snickered together. It wasn't a resolution—just like it had not been resolution under the tree in the field. But it was a tiny bit of peace. And Kat felt better with it than she had before.

"Take care of yourself, okay?" she said, pushing off the car. "And call if you need to. All the work I was doing with Bobby still stands."

"Oh." Sam's smile slipped a bit, and he looked at her curiously. "If I call, are…are you gonna pick up?"

"Yeah," she sighed reluctantly. "You're an idiot, and I still kind of hate you, but…I guess I don't want you to die. If you two losers kick it, we all do. Besides, if anyone's gonna kill you, it should be me."

"Fair enough."

He smiled, and stood up from the Impala. He stood still for a moment, so awkward that Kat took pity on him.

She stepped up and hugged him, sinking into the contact she hadn't realized she was starved for. It was just another reason that being around Sam was exhausting. Every moment was a battle, a struggle between reason and emotion. The solid knowledge that he'd fucked her over, and the loneliness that was already dawning on her. The cold fact that he didn't deserve the brunt of her rage, and the fury that was still living in her chest. There were no easy answers. Every step was just another fight.

"Gross. Get your PDA off my car."

Kat pulled away from Sam, flipping Dean off before she even caught sight of him. He gave it right back to her, and shoved his brother toward her car.

"Come on, Sammy. Let's get this piece of crap to the junk yard. I'll race you to the next diner."

"You are not racing my car," Kat warned him, shoving a finger into Sam's face.

"Hey, I got it! I hate racing Dean anyway."

"Yeah, that's cause you always lose," Dean taunted, and Sam scoffed.

"Yeah, because I know what a speed limit is."

"Limit my ass."

"God, I would love to see you get pulled over," Kat said wistfully. "No valid license, no insurance, trunk full of machetes and guns with no permit."

"Hey, I can talk my way out of any speeding ticket."

"Uh-huh. And right into resisting arrest."

"No way. I'm…okay, that's fair."

Kat braved a smile, and offered him her hand. He nodded, looking impressed, and shook it firmly.

"Take care of yourself, Kit Kat."

"Get out of here, douchebag."

She stood back, watching as the boys climbed back into the two different cars. It was comical how out of place gigantic Sam looked in her tiny car. Dean's car roared to life, drowning out the Prius, and within an instant his hand had slammed down on the radio. He cranked up the volume, over-exaggerating his head bangs and raising his hands to the sky in thanks for his rock music. Kat was glad he couldn't hear her laugh over the noise.

They both pulled out of the yard and out onto the road. Kat stood on the shoulder, watching one set of taillights disappear, and then the other. And then she stood there, trying to decide if it was relief, fury or sadness that was cementing her feet to the grass. It didn't really matter. She couldn't go after them, and she was too proud to call right after they'd left. She couldn't call her mother and tell her where she was. She couldn't call Harley, or Marcus, or Jess. The only thing she could do was turn around, and walk back inside Harvelle's Roadhouse.


	27. Chapter 27

Kat was by no means a self-important person. Confident, sure. Self-centered, occasionally. But she was acutely aware of how replaceable she was. She wasn't morbid, just realistic.

And still. Kat could not imagine how Ellen had run the Roadhouse without her.

The Roadhouse was by no means mobbed. A busy day had maybe thirty people in the bar at once. They were still in the middle of Nebraska, after all. But thirty hunters who all wanted to eat, drink, shit, scream and play pool at the same time turned out to be Kat's worst nightmare made into a vivid, vivid reality.

As if pouring drinks for angry hunters wasn't enough, the Roadhouse also had a basic bar kitchen. How the _fuck_ Ellen had poured drinks and cooked burgers for a crowd all by herself was well beyond Kat. Ellen had told her not to worry about it. She'd get the practice in, and get used to it over time. And if the guys were rushing her, she was well within her rights to tell them to hold their balls until she had two seconds to put in the order.

Well, that was easy for Ellen to say. Ellen was the owner. Best as Kat could tell, she'd owned the bar for twenty some-odd years, until it burned down and she built it up all over again. The customers knew her, respected her. Kat didn't have that luxury. She was a nobody. She was fresh meat.

The first time some smooth talking hunter had tried to give her the number to his burner phone, she'd ignored it. The second and third time, she'd ignored it. When they pushed, she snapped back. It only made everything worse. Then she wasn't just the "new girl," she was the "feisty new girl," the "playing-hard-to-get new girl." It was like a fucking game to them. Could any of these guys really win her over? Who could coax the biggest threat out of her? How much could they get away with before she up and snapped? It died down when Ellen was working the bar, but as soon as she dipped in the back, all bets were off.

It was three days before she punched someone.

She was always hyper conscious of the way she moved when she was working. She just wanted to make it through the night without drawing any extra attention to herself. But when she didn't give them an opening, they created one for themselves.

It had been a table of four young guys. They'd just gotten off some wendigo hunt and were talking smack, feeling like big shit she guessed. And one of them had offered to help her carry their drinks to the table. She could tell by his grin that he meant trouble, but she'd swallowed her pride on day two. He followed her up to the bar and she turned to pick up their drinks.

Kat wasn't even sure what he'd done. All she heard was the table burst out laughing, half a breath from the guy behind her, and everything else had flipped like a switch. He was spitting blood two seconds later, some of his own and some of Kat's. She'd cut her fist on his teeth when she swung.

Ellen wasn't too mad, which was a relief.

"I figured I was signing myself up for some bar fights when I took you in," she admitted, slapping some tape onto Kat's knuckles. "The way you were stomping around Sam and Dean, I thought it'd happen a lot sooner. Just try to keep it to sprains and bruises, huh? You're the one who's gonna be scrubbing the blood out of the floor."

The reassurance that she could use force if she had to should have put her at ease. She didn't have to smile. She didn't have to lie down and take it without fighting back. But Ellen's words only made her more nervous. How much trouble was she looking forward to if Ellen was sure from the start she'd have to use violence on the job?

It was hard to be thankful for her safety when she spent every day dreading the sound of customers at the door, and every night longing for her shift to end. Then she could go back to the spare room Ellen was renting her, push her face into the pillow, and desperately pretend that she was home in her own bed. It was the only fragment of comfort she had. The Roadhouse might not have any demons, but she didn't exactly feel safe.

"So when do you get off work?" asked one of the hunters at the bar.

It was only day five, and she'd lost track of how many times she'd been asked.

"Never," she said shortly. "I'm on the clock until the end of the world."

"Ha, cute and funny," he replied, winking over his drink. "Okay, I'll guess. Two? Three?"

"Hey, buddy," said one of the older men from a few seats over. "She means she's not interested. Let the poor girl do her job."

The guy frowned, shooting a glare at the man. There was a size-up on both sides, but it seemed she wasn't worth the trouble of a showdown. The young hunter held up his hands, grabbed his drink, and returned to a table on the other side of the bar.

"Barry," Kat sighed, sliding the older gentleman another beer. "Thank you."

He was one of Ellen's regulars, retired from the game but still willing to help out anyone that was still in the middle of the action. He was also one of the few that hadn't given Kat a single problem. It was probably thanks to him she hadn't killed anyone yet, or walked out to face the demons on her tail despite consequence.

"Don't sweat it, Kat," he said, lifting his bottle in salute. "Can't have any of these pipsqueaks messing with my favorite bartender."

"Ha. Don't let Ellen hear you saying that."

"Eh, she'll forgive me. I pay her too much money not to. The thing you gotta remember is that when she's back there, you're the boss. Don't let these hotshots get you down."

"Yeah, right." She swept a rag over the counter, trying to busy the hands that were itching to turn into fists. "Well those hotshots are still paying customers, so I gotta watch my back if I wanna keep this job."

"Ellen makes enough money off us old dogs. She can afford to kick the riff raff to the curb. And I'd love some in house entertainment."

"I'm sure you would. You offering to salt and burn the bodies when I'm through with them?"

"Hey, you've gotta do what you've gotta do."

He winked at her, but this time Kat genuinely smiled. Maybe she could keep a fragment of her sanity after all.

Something shattered on the other side of the room, making everyone in the bar look up. Mr. Hotshot was over at his table, jumping out of his seat to pick up the glass he'd broken on the ground. At a distance, Kat couldn't decide whether or not he'd done it on purpose to piss her off, or if he was destined to be in the bar to torment her.

"Work's never done," she sighed, picking up her rag.

Barry snorted and waved her off. "Give 'em hell, Katherine."

She walked around the counter, heading over to the table so she could help the guy pick up the glass from the ground.

"I'm so sorry," he said when she kneeled down next to him. "I went to open the newspaper and it just went everywhere."

"Accidents happen," she assured him in her best customer service voice. "Don't sweat it."

"I know. I just—I feel so bad. I'll clean it up. I got it."

"Hey, it's my job. And if you're that clumsy you probably shouldn't be around shards of glass."

"Fair enough," he chuckled. "Crazy how you can be taking down a vamp nest one minute and knocking over your lunch the next."

Kat laughed politely, praying that he'd drop it. But of course, he didn't.

"At least let me buy you a drink," he offered. "You know, to thank you."

"Like I said, it's my job."

"And you're doing great. Don't you think you deserve some time to kick back?"

She pursed her lips, considering him. Taller than her, bulkier muscles rather than lean. He had highlights in his hair, which was completely baffling her. How could someone do that kind of upkeep on the road between hunts? Most hunters didn't have day jobs, and he wanted to blow his hard-earned hustle money on his hair? He looked like he belonged on a California boardwalk more than a dive bar.

Kat glanced over her shoulder at the bar. Barry was watching them surreptitiously. He caught her eye and raised an eyebrow.

"Let me ask you something," she said, turning back to the guy and resting one hand on her hip. "Did you break the glass on purpose to get me over here?"

"Ha, well…you're quick on the uptake, I'll give you that," he said with a grin. "I needed a second window, so…guilty."

"Right. Well how about this?"

She grabbed the hand that was sitting on the table, flexing it back at the wrist and digging her thumb into his palm hard. The guy let out a satisfying yelp as his knees buckled underneath him. Kat made sure to steer him away from the broken glass.

"Destruction of private property is a crime. And a dick move. So instead of buying me a drink, you're gonna double my tip to cover the damages, and get the hell out of this bar. Got it?"

"I got it! Ow! Fuck! I got it, I got it!"

Kat released his hand, tossing him onto the floor. She picked up the rest of the glass, dropped it in the rag, and stormed off down the hallway. Somewhere behind her, she could hear Barry clapping.

She burst into the back room in a huff, slamming the broken glass into the trashcan. The pieces smashed against the bottom and shattered into even smaller pieces. Ellen barely looked up at the noise.

"Careful, girlie. You're the one taking out the trash."

"I hate men," Kat spat, pacing the room. "I just—I hate them!"

"Uh-huh."

"They're all so fucking entitled, and think that just because I have to smile because I'm on the clock it's a good time to swoop in and practice their charm and pick up lines and all their fucking bullshit because they know that I can't walk away from them even if I wanted to. I don't have anywhere else to go!"

"Yup."

"I hate all of them. I hate talking to them. I hate looking at them. I hate working with them. I hate humoring them. I definitely hate serving them."

"You don't say?"

Kat sighed, resting a hand against her forehead. Ellen was peering at her over her reading glasses, her eyes challenging.

"Sorry," Kat mumbled. "I appreciate what you're doing for me, Ellen. I really do. I'm just…not used to this. I specifically designed my life so I did not have to deal with this."

"Well life don't usually go by design. But I get it. And I'd rather have you bitch to me about it than take it out on them."

"About that…"

Ellen groaned. She tossed her glasses down on top of the papers she was going over—Kat's inventory run down, judging by the highlighted lines.

"Am I paying for someone's hospital bills?"

"No. He broke a glass. I put him in his place."

"On the floor?"

"…Yeah."

"Well, that's fine by me." Ellen smirked, eyes flicking over her. "Those legs of yours are just as much a curse as a blessing."

"Don't objectify me, Ellen."

"It's the truth." The woman laughed, gathering the papers on the table in front of her. "Alright, I can do the rest of this up front. Why don't you take your break before I've got some sorry kid's broken bones on my hands?"

"Thank you, thank you, thank you…"

Kat sped up the stairs, barricading herself in her room before Ellen could change her mind. Grabbing her laptop, she flopped onto the bed back first. She took a moment to stare up at the ceiling, relief flooding every vessel in her body.

If there was anything positive about working at the Roadhouse—besides putting off her impending death sentence—it was that she appreciated Warrior Women now more than ever. She missed her gym, her space, her sanctum. It was easy to get wrapped up in all the little things that went wrong at the gym—bills and schedule changes and her nosy if well-meaning employees. Sometimes she forgot just how lucky she was to have it. It was like Pamela said. Not many people had a sanctuary like that.

She pushed herself up against the wall, flipping her laptop open and scrolling through her email. There were a couple messages from Harley, several with excel sheets of schedules or PDFs of resumes attached. It made Kat's heart swell with pride. Harley had always been her second in command, but it came with the assumption that she would never have to step up to first. Kat's mom had her reservations about Harley, but it looked like she'd really stepped up in Kat's absence. There were a few teasing jabs about abandonment in the emails, but she couldn't be too upset. As far as Harley was concerned, Kat was on an extended business trip looking into franchising Warrior Women.

Of course, Kat's mother was still furious.

She was at a loss for what to do. Her mother hadn't texted, hadn't called, hadn't emailed. She wasn't strictly supposed to of course. All it would take was one possessed government employee tracking her calls and the demons would know exactly where Kat was hiding. But Kat hadn't expected her to actually care about that. She'd expected to get a hundred messages yelling at her, demanding to know where she was, telling her to come home to face a wrath worse than angels'. Instead, it had been radio silence. That was immeasurably worse.

Kat knew her mom had every right to be pissed, but it didn't make it any less frustrating. There was nothing she could do to change the situation stuck in Nebraska. She couldn't explain anything, or let her mother vent, or even hug her until she stopped being mad.

"Kat! Break's over! Down here! Now!"

She shot up in surprise, and glanced at the clock. She'd barely been sitting down for five minutes. Her break had barely started, let alone finished. But she didn't want to argue with the tone in Ellen's voice. Kat quickly pushed her laptop to the side and hurried down the stairs.

Ellen was nowhere in sight when Kat got down to the bar. She hopped behind the counter, jumping right back into things where she'd left off. She topped off a few of the drinks on the bar, took orders from a new table, and grabbed a fresh rag for cleaning. She didn't look up until a hush fell over the customers a few minutes later.

The front door slammed shut. Ellen was back, and she had her arm slung around a young blonde slightly shorter than Kat. The girl was stumbling slightly, drenched in rain, and there was blood trickling from under her hair. No one said a word as Ellen ushered her through the room, disappearing down the hallway without a word to anyone. After several tense seconds, somebody slipped some money into the jukebox in the corner, and the sound returned to the bar.

"Poor thing," grumbled Barry, who was still sitting on the same stool from earlier.

"Who was that?" asked Kat.

"Jo—Ellen's little girl."

"What?" Kat blinked. Ellen hadn't mentioned anything about her family, and Kat had never thought to ask. "I didn't know she had a daughter."

"Well, Jo ain't around much anymore. Used to have your job, waiting tables, fightin' off drunks. Don't think she had as much trouble as you did, course. She grew up in here, an' everyone knew it'd be their head on a platter if they looked her wrong. If Ellen didn't get 'em, Jo certainly would've."

"What happened?"

"Turned hunter," Barry said with a shrug. "Had a blowout fight with her mom, left home. She's got heart, but she's a reckless one for sure. Got more passion than she's got any sense. Only seen her a couple times in the past year—always coming home beat to hell. Breaks her mom's heart, but they're both too stubborn to change."

Kat nodded, and immediately backed off the subject. That hit a little too close to home.

She tried to put the scene out of her mind for the rest of the night. She tried to focus on the drinks and food orders she was now filling by herself. The guys were still giving her just as much shit, but for the first time, it wasn't bothering her. She was too focused on the work to waste time being mad. She was too busy trying to forget about the situation between Ellen and her daughter.

By three o'clock in the morning, Kat was absolutely beat. Her legs were aching from the rushing around, she'd burned herself twice on the stove, and her hands were sticky from alcohol residue. Her muscles screamed for sleep, but her mind wouldn't cooperate. With that in mind, she kicked the last few patrons out of the building and then ducked into the kitchen.

Kat rapped her knuckles on the door frame to the back room. When Ellen looked up from her glass, her eyes droopy and tired, Kat held up a plate of sandwiches and chips.

"Hungry?"

"Yeah, actually. Yeah, come on in."

She cleared a space on the table for the platter, and grabbed an extra glass from off her desk. Kat sat down in the chair next to her, trading the late night sandwich for the portion of whiskey. She nodded her thanks, and they tucked into their food. With the customers gone, the Roadhouse was quiet. Only the sound of the rain outside broke the silence.

"How is she?" Kat asked, halfway through her food.

Ellen's sigh was shaky and exasperated.

"She could be worse. Ghost blew her through a wall. She'll be fine."

"That's good."

"Yeah." Ellen pushed her plate away from her and leaned back in her seat. "Guess you've got questions."

"None that you need to answer. Barry filled me in on the basics."

"Barry needs to learn to mind his own damn business."

"Hey." Kat propped her elbows on the table, looking at Ellen in earnest. "You're the one doing me a favor here, Ellen. You don't have to tell me shit."

"I know." She ran a thumb across her lower lip, and drummed her fingers against the table top. "But Sam spilled your sob story. Wouldn't kill me to share some of mine."

Kat raised her hands and waited in silence. She wasn't about to push.

"I met Bill on the job. Lot of hunters will tell you it doesn't work—caring about someone and killing things out there. Feelings just get in the way, cloud your judgement, all that crap. But Bill and I, we made it work. Thought the same way, protected each other. We got the job done.

"I only ever hung up the shotgun when I found out I was pregnant. Opened the Roadhouse, had Jo. Bill still came and went when he had to, but I made sure Joanna Beth never knew more than she needed to. We didn't lie. We told her what was out there, how to protect herself. But she didn't see a lick of it for herself. All she had to go on was her daddy's stories when he got home. Until…well, until he didn't."

Ellen took a moment to pour Kat another drink. Then she took a few swigs straight from the bottle.

"Was it a case?" Kat asked gently.

"Yeah. Hunting some nasty he couldn't take on all on his own. Picked up a friend, and uh…"

Ellen paused to look at the bottle again. She screwed on the cap.

"Well. Winchester collateral damage. I don't have to tell you what that's like."

"No." Kat sagged in her seat, unable to hold Ellen's gaze. "No, you don't."

"Forgave him best I could. John was a good man, would've done anything he could to save Bill. I never heard from him again. Couldn't look me in the eye."

"Yeah. I've heard that before."

"That's cause it's true. Your sister wasn't Sam's fault any more than my husband was John's."

"Ellen, I got it," Kat said, cutting her off. "And I've made my peace with Sam for that. But he loves digging himself into a deeper hole, and that's bad blood I'm not ready to touch yet. Alright?"

Ellen pressed her lips into a thin line, but gave a stiff nod. "Your choice."

"Thank you." Kat took a shaky breath, then redirected the conversation. "So how old was Jo?"

"About ten. Old enough to understand what happened. Old enough understand the job. At least she thought she did anyway. Think she's wanted to be a hunter ever since. She dated hunters, ran off to play back up when she thought I wasn't looking. She played along for a while, tried her hand at college, but…I guess she always had her heart set on it.

"Couple years back, the Winchesters waltzed in and…well, that didn't help matters. Jo tricked 'em into taking her on a hunt, got herself kidnapped by a ghost. She'd put the whole case file together herself, did all the groundwork. It was her first real hunt. And after that taste she decided she was ready for the big time. Wouldn't listen to a word I had to say.

"Longest she's ever been home was about a year ago. Demons burned the bar down and she heard about it on the road. She came barreling back here to make sure I wasn't dead, stayed for almost a month. But she was still itching to get back out there. Now she only comes home when she needs stitches."

"I'm sorry," Kat said plainly, making Ellen wave her hand.

"Ain't nothing to be sorry for."

"I know, but…as someone who ducked out on her own mom, I've heard first-hand what kind of hell that must put you through. My mom's the same way. Gives me a nice piece of her mind every time I come home."

"Except you come home," Ellen countered.

Kat smiled bitterly, waving her hands. "Not this time."

"You would if you could. I'm sure she knows that."

"Yeah, well, I'm not so sure. It's…It's been hard on her—losing my sister, my dad. And then I went off for a couple months without calling too. Even when I came home, I didn't do it just for her. I did it cause I wanted to work. I wanted to help people at the gym just as much as I wanted to help people on the road."

"Some noble talk," said Ellen with a grin. "You sound like Jo. Anything to help the victim even if it's your own neck."

"Hey, you can be mad at her for it, but it sounds like she's doing some good. You should be proud."

"I am. When I'm not halfway to the loony bin with worry, anyway. Just wish she'd learned how to communicate between all that playing with butterfly knives and bows and arrows. Pick up a phone, shoot a text message, send some damn flowers. God forbid she acknowledge that I'm worried about her."

"Sounds like a good idea," said Kat, hiding her own smile.

"Well. I've talked your ear off enough for one night."

Ellen stood up, stashing her liquor back in her desk and turning for the dishes on the table. Kat knocked her hands away, shaking her head.

"You know, don't worry about that, Ellen. I got it."

"You make me dinner and now you're cleaning up too? You realize I ain't paying you, right? You're not getting a raise."

"Loud and clear, boss. Go ahead, I just wanna borrow your phone before I head to bed."

"Kat," Ellen said warningly. "I know we're getting nostalgic and all, but you know you can't call your mom."

"I know. I'm not trying to bail on you. Promise."

Ellen considered her for a moment, but must have concluded that her intentions were genuine. She patted Kat on the shoulder as she walked out the door.

"Alright then. Turn the lights off before you come up. Night, sweetie."

"You got it. Night, Ellen."

Kat brought the dishes into the kitchen, washing them off in the sink. She'd already done most of the other dishes, but she gave the kitchen another once over, just to buy herself time to think.

When she was finally satisfied with the state of the place, she dried off her hands and walked out into the bar. There was an old rotary phone behind the bar, which Kat pulled out in the low light. She took out her cell phone, scrolling through the contacts until she found the number that she wanted. She'd called it enough times that there was a comfortable muscle memory attached to the numbers, but she didn't have it memorized just yet. So she copied it over to the Roadhouse phone, then pinned the receiver to her ear.

 _"Hello?"_

"Hey, Bobby. It's Kat—Kat Moore. Katherine."

 _"Yeah, I got that part. There a reason you're calling me close to four in the damn morning?"_

"What?" She looked around her, the absurdity of it all finally catching up to her. "Oh—fuck! Sorry, I was just—Roadhouse has got my sleeping schedule all screwed up. I didn't even realize. I'll call you tomorrow."

 _"Hey, slow down, girlie. I'm already up. You alright?"_

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry."

 _"You said that bit. What's going on?"_

Kat bit her lip. It sounded so stupid now that she had the phone in her hand. Just hearing Bobby's voice made her cringe like she was about to be scolded. She was being an idiot. But if she didn't tell him now, he was bound to call Sam and Dean. And then they'd call asking what was up and Sam would never let her rest til he got an answer and she'd have to explain it to them. The last thing she needed was Dean holding it over her head.

"Okay," she sighed, squeezing the receiver tightly. "I know this is gonna sound stupid but uh…I wanted to ask if you could send something for me."

 _"What kind of something?"_

"Well, they're uh…flowers. For my mom."

 _"Flowers?"_

That was the tone she'd been worried about. That why-the-fuck-are-you-calling-me-at-four-in-the-damn-morning-to-ask-about-flowers-you-idiot tone.

"Yes, flowers," she said tersely. "So she knows I'm sorry."

 _"Kat, her only living daughter got herself landed on Hell's most wanted list. Daisies ain't gonna do much to smooth that over."_

"I've gotta do something, okay? I can't call her and I can't text her and I can't email her, and if I order the flowers they could just as easy trace the order back and hunt down my IP address or something. But she's furious with me, and I don't know what else to do. I can't just sit here and do nothing."

 _"So you want me to order 'em. So when they trace the order back I'm the one with demons on my tail."_

"Bobby, Dean and Sam are at your place like once a month. I'm surprised your house is even standing, all things considered."

Kat heard him grunt and mumble something unintelligible. She knew she had him there.

"Please, Bobby. I'm good for the money. I just need you to press send on the order."

 _"Fine. But you do all this research and flower picking on your own, alright? I ain't a damn florist."_

"Thank you, Bobby. And also could…could you not tell Sam and Dean about this?"

 _"What's wrong? You don't want 'em to know that you've actually got a heart in there?"_

"No. Sam will get it, I just don't want Dean up my ass about being a girly romantic or anything like that."

 _"That's probably a good call,"_ Bobby admitted. _"I'll keep it on the low. Just give me a ring when you got it. Preferably when the sun is up."_

"Right. Sorry, Bobby."

 _"Don't mention it, kiddo."_


	28. Chapter 28

She didn't want to make any preemptive assumptions, but Kat was pretty sure that Jo Harvelle hated her guts.

Kat walked down the stairs the next morning to find that the other women were already awake. Jo was sitting at the bar, poking at a plate of eggs and talking to her mother through the kitchen window. The conversation stopped the moment Kat entered the room. Jo's face fell, which was a feat considering she already looked so sour.

Kat pretended that she hadn't noticed.

"Morning."

"Good morning," said Ellen, popping her head out of the kitchen. "Kat, this is my daughter Jo. Jo, this is Kat Moore. She's helping me out around here for a while."

"Nice to meet you," said Kat.

Jo nodded, but said nothing.

Ellen passed Kat a plate of eggs through the window, which she took gratefully. She took a seat a few stools away from the young girl, wanting to keep her distance.

"How's your head?"

"I'm fine," Jo said shortly. She narrowed her eyes at Kat, then spoke without looking away. "You know, Mom, you didn't have to be so on the money with my replacement. It's kind of insulting."

"Not like I went shopping for a carbon copy," said Ellen. She walked behind the bar with her own plate of food, a dish towel slung over her shoulder. "I told you. Sam and Dean dropped her here because…"

"Yeah, yeah. Angels, demon hunt. You told me. I'm just saying."

Ellen gave her daughter a sharp look, to which Jo furrowed her brow. Kat watched them nervously. She hoped someday she learned how to decode all the silent conversations people insisted on having in front of her.

"That reminds me," said Ellen, turning back to Kat. "Who were you calling at four am last night? I don't have to worry about you jumping in a taxi, do I?"

"Oh no, I just needed to talk to Bobby. He's gonna check in on my mom for me."

"Aw, well that's nice. You hear that, Joanna Beth? She's not allowed to contact her mom, so she's gonna find another way to make sure she's alright. This way she's not worried sick."

Jo nodded, and threw her fork down onto her plate.

"You know what? I don't have to deal with this. Thanks for your help, Mom. Real nice meeting you, Kat. I'm out of…"

"Oh no you're not." Ellen pulled the towel off of her shoulder with a snap that stopped her daughter in her tracks. "You've still got a concussion, and I've gotta check those stitches to make sure you didn't yank em out. You're staying here for today. That's final."

"Mom, I told you, I'm fine. Besides, you don't need me here. Carbon copy, remember?"

"Actually, Kat's a little new to all this. It's been pretty busy around here, and I haven't had the time to really sit down and train her. I was thinking you could stick around, show her the ropes. I'm sure some of the guys would be happy to see you."

"Yeah," Jo scoffed. "I'm dying for a reunion with the sixty year olds who like slapping ass."

"Probably even happy enough to tip," Ellen continued, as if she hadn't been interrupted. "A lot easier than hustling pool. Just a thought."

Jo folded her arms over her chest. She glared at her mother, glared at Kat in her seat, glared at the door that was only a few more steps away. She was halfway there. But the money must've been a good enough incentive, because let out a strangled noise of frustration and stomped up the stairs to her room.

"Apron's still in the back room!" Ellen called.

"I got it! Whatever!"

They listened to her thundering footsteps, for the slam of her bedroom door. It was so loud the house seemed to shake. But Ellen just grinned, and tossed the towel back on her shoulder.

"Well I think that went pretty well."

Kat looked at her skeptically. She chose not to comment on that.

"Ellen, if you had a problem with the way I do the job, you could always just tell me."

"Oh, you're fine, darlin'," the woman assured her. "You adapt quick. But it gives her a reason to stick around for a while, so I thought it was a good excuse."

"Right," Kat said with a bitter smile. "So you just threw me right under the bus."

"Welcome to the job, sweetie."

Ellen patted her arm and turned away, moving to set the bar up for opening. Kat watched her without truly processing anything. It wasn't the mother-daughter dynamic that was bugging her. Obviously Jo didn't like to be told what to do, and Ellen knew how to manipulate her into doing it anyway. It was the same with Kat and her mother.

The thing that made Kat uncomfortable was Jo's stormy death glares for her. She hadn't even said a word yesterday and the girl already seemed to have made up her mind. Kat was a little taken aback. Ellen had given her some shit when she walked in the door, but she'd gotten over it real fast. She was accepting, warm. Jo didn't seem interested in being either of those things.

"Look, I really don't want to get in the middle of this," Kat sighed, grabbing Ellen's attention again. "Jo clearly doesn't want me here, so maybe I should just butt out for a while. I get that she doesn't like feeling replaced, and maybe that I'm overstepping my…"

Ellen burst out laughing before Kat could finish.

"Oh, sweetheart, she's not worried about being replaced. She's just jealous you were riding with the Winchesters."

"Jealous?" Kat gaped at her. "Did you _tell_ her my life story?"

"She's not looking for reason. I told you. Sam and Dean are reasons three and four she went off to become a hunter in the first place, right after taking after her dad and being a pain in my ass. Tell the truth, I'm sure she's more worried about the Winchester looks than their logic."

Kat wrinkled her nose. "Gross."

"Hey, I'll be the first to tell you those boys are pretty as a picture."

"Maybe, but…still…gross."

Ellen chuckled, and passed Kat her apron from behind the counter.

"She'll work it out of her system. Just stand clear of her hissy fits and try not to let her near a shotgun."

This was not particularly comforting advice. But Kat couldn't argue. Jo was Ellen's daughter, and Ellen was the boss. She'd just have to hold her tongue until Jo got bored of the place and stormed off to go on another hunt.

With that in mind, Kat prepared herself for the work shift from hell. She was ready for Jo to give her all the shit she could take, to tell her to stay out of her way, to order her around like a lackey. Kat was going to hate every second of it, but she'd suffer through. If she could work a week long case with a demon, she could waitress with a petulant little kid.

Kat was ready for anything. But for the most part, Jo just ignored her.

Looking back on it, she wasn't sure if they'd said one word to each other the entire day. They'd silently divided up the work. Kat focused on the tables, fetching drinks, writing down orders, and occasionally ducking into the kitchen to prepare them. Jo stayed behind the bar, filling glasses with practiced ease, and chatting with all of the older men at the bar.

Like Barry, a lot of the hunters seemed to know who Jo was. They greeted her jovially, asked how she was, how her hunts were going, how she'd got that nasty slice on her forehead. Every stool at the bar was taken, and a couple men had found counter space to lean on anyway. Jo answered all of their questions with bright eyes and a wide smile. She told stories about the different cases she'd taken on, the people she'd met on the road, and snapped at them when they interrupted her. Whenever she did, everyone at the bar would laugh.

Kat could instantly see what Barry had meant. Jo was comfortable behind the bar, but she loved being out on her own. She talked about her jobs with pride and excitement, even when her smile pulled at the stitches on her face.

Then she'd catch sight of Kat, and the smile would falter.

The most intimidating thing Jo did during the day was just watch her. Every now and then Kat would look up from her notebook or turn around to go into the kitchen and find Jo staring at her moodily. It wasn't a death glare, exactly. She just seemed kind of haughty, and inconvenienced by Kat's presence. Whenever she was caught she'd quickly busy herself cleaning a glass or wiping down the counter. Kat really wasn't sure what to make of it.

She considered calling Sam. If not to get some insight, just to bitch at him for not mentioning her in the arrangement. But Kat couldn't use her cell, and the only phone available was the one behind the bar. She wasn't going to call anyone when Jo was eavesdropping five feet away.

The one good thing about having Jo in the bar was that everyone was too focused on her to bother Kat all that much. She still had to fend off a few of the newer assholes, but they only hit on her after she explained who Jo was and why she was unavailable. If they wanted to make a pass at the owner's daughter, that was fine by her. Hopefully they'd leave with both their hands.

The end of the day rolled around pretty quickly. The regulars left early to give Jo some time with her mom, and the hunters passing through left pretty quickly after that. Ellen decided to call it an early night, and let them start stacking chairs around midnight. They swept, they mopped, they brought glasses back into the kitchen, and Kat was just finishing counting down the cash box when Jo finally broke the silence.

"Hey, Kat," she called. She was standing on the other side of the room, wiping the edges of the billiards table. "You know how to play pool?"

"In theory," Kat answered cautiously. "Only played once or twice."

"Gotta know how to play if you're working in a bar full of hunters." Jo picked one of the pool cues up from the wall and gave it an experimental swing, like an oversized baton. "Come on. I'll give you a few tips."

Kat could sense immediately that this was not a good idea.

"Thanks, but I'm good," she said politely. "I've still gotta wipe down the kitchen and finish the dishes in…"

"Oh, I got this, Kat." Ellen's face appeared in the kitchen window, smiling brightly. "You two girls go ahead and have fun."

"You heard her," said Jo. "I'll go easy on you."

Kat glared at Ellen, who simply winked at her before disappearing once more. Traitor.

Reluctantly, Kat joined Jo at the far side of the bar. She'd already racked up the balls, and was sorting through the tips that she'd stuffed in her apron.

"How's a hundred sound?"

"Excuse me?" asked Kat. "A hundred dollars?"

"What, you got some other currency you wanna use?"

"You realize your mom's not paying me right?"

"Well, you've been making tips right?" Jo asked, holding up her own wad of cash. "You've been working here almost a week. You gotta have some betting money."

"I don't have a hundred," Kat said flatly.

"Fine," Jo sighed. She shoved some of the money back into her pocket. "You got fifty? Or are you not good enough to rake in that kind of dough?"

For a fleeting moment, Kat wondered if Ellen would be mad at her for kicking her daughter. She'd been the one to shoehorn Kat into this interaction, and Kat could only take so much after a long day. But she kept both feet on the floor.

"Yeah," she agreed reluctantly, pulling out her own roll of tips. "I can do fifty."

"Perfect. I'll break."

Jo flashed her a winning smile and circled the table. Her eyes narrowed at the break point, analyzing for a moment before she leaned down to take her shot. In one swift movement, the cue ball shot across the table and shattered the pyramid formation. One, two, three balls rolled into a pocket, and Jo placed a proud hand on her hip.

"Guess I'll go again."

Kat nodded, not in the least bit surprised.

You couldn't call it being hustled when you knew walking in the door that you were about to have your ass handed over to you on a losers' plaque. Jo had probably been playing pool since she was old enough to tell the difference between solids and stripes. It was hardly fair to put money on a rigged game. But Ellen was nowhere in sight. Even if she had been, Kat doubted she'd intercede. She'd thrown Kat to the wolves and left her to fend for herself.

Jo won the first game by a landslide. Kat had only taken a shot three times.

"You weren't kidding," Jo said with a low whistle. "You really suck at this."

"Yeah, well I gave it a shot." Kat tossed her money onto the table. "Nice game."

"Woah, hold on. I cannot take that from you."

"Why not?"

"Seriously?" Jo giggled. "Well, for one, I don't feel like I earned it."

"You did. You won fair and square. Good game."

"Oh, come on," she said, pushing the bills back at her. "We'll say that was a practice round. Doesn't count."

Kat desperately wanted to walk away. But she lived here now, and there was only so far she could run. So she picked up her pool cue and stepped up to the end of the table, waiting as Jo re-racked the balls. Kat tried to stare at them like she had, imagining which way they would roll if she hit a certain spot. Only she didn't have any idea what she was doing.

When Kat shot the white ball across the table, the pyramid barely shifted.

"…Okay, then." Jo had the decency not to laugh. "That didn't count either."

The second game went better than the first. Jo was clearly taking the laziest shots she could to level the playing field, but she was still doing well. Kat actually decided to try, and managed to put a ball or two into the pockets.

"So," she said, after they'd traded a few turns. "How was your case? The ghost?"

"It was fine," Jo said with a shrug. "I was down in Missouri. A woman in white."

"A what?"

"It's a kind of vengeful spirit. Pretty rare, since there're so many qualifiers. Has to be a woman who got cheated on, killed her kids and then killed herself."

"Wow, that's uh…shitty."

"No kidding," said Jo. She sunk another shot as she spoke. "But it's light on the research end, once you know what you're dealing with. Only problem was that the house she was inhabiting was old as shit. She blew me through a wall and then a whole chunk of the roof caved in. Had to set the whole place on fire, just to make sure."

"Three cheers for criminal arson," said Kat dryly.

Jo nodded, and looked up from the shot she was about to take.

"What about you? I heard your last case was a real winner. Angels, demons, the whole shebang."

"Your mom told you all that?"

"I don't know about _all_." Jo huffed and took an overeager jab with her pool stick. The ball scratched, and she glared at it unforgivingly. "She cut the story pretty short."

"How much did she tell you?"

"Just about you. That you used to be friends with Sam until your sister died. That you got caught in the middle of some angels and demons, and they were trying to start the apocalypse. You're bad news for the demons because you can talk to Heaven."

"That's it?"

"That's it," said Jo. "That and a whole bunch of 'Joanna Beth, don't worry about a case that ain't yours. This isn't your fight.' Which is a load of crap if she's telling the truth. No better time to jump on someone's case than the end of the world."

Kat nodded. She took another shot on the pool table, and the green ball she'd been aiming for rolled toward the pocket. It hesitated on the edge, bouncing back and forth between the walls, then stalled.

"We were protecting a fallen angel."

Jo stopped in the middle of assessing the table, staring at Kat with wide eyes. "What?"

"On the case," Kat explained. "There was this girl named Anna who'd been talking about the Apocalypse. Said she could hear angels. Turned out that it was because she used to be one. The demons wanted to interrogate her, torture her for information, and the angels wanted her dead for turning human in the first place."

"What happened?"

"Well, we got out. Sam set it up so the angels and demons came for her at the same time, and they were too busy fighting each other to care about us. Anna managed to get her…I don't know. Her angel power back? So now she's too powerful to be killed."

"Wow." Jo stared, leaning heavily on the pool cue. "So…is that why they want you dead? I mean, are you…?"

"An angel?" Kat laughed, though just last week it hadn't been funny. "No. But I was worried for a hot sec. Trust me."

"Then what are you? How come you can talk to them?"

"I can't. Honestly, even if I could I wouldn't want to. But they can talk to me, I guess. Castiel said I'm _chosen._ "

Kat was relieved to see Jo roll her eyes before she took her shot. She laughed again, somewhat relieved.

"So it was just your lucky day, huh?" asked Jo, as she scored another pocket. "Find out you've got some fancy, angelic superpowers, and now you can't go home."

"Yeah, I really hit the jackpot."

"Still that's gotta be cool. Being able to see an angel."

"I guess. But it's not like it's all that useful. It only matters if an angel's trying to contact me. Obviously they're not."

She gestured around her at the empty room, and Jo smirked.

"What? So you're not hearing a bunch of creepy voices right now?"

"No. If I was, I'm pretty sure you'd know."

Jo looked at her questioningly before she took her next turn. She missed her shot, and moved to sit on the corner of the pool table, waiting for an explanation.

"The only time I've ever heard it, I was half asleep," Kat continued, circling the table. "Castiel was trying to talk to Dean, and it just came through as this ear piercing ringing. We're talking make your ears bleed, glass shattering, earth shaking ringing. I could understand him, but it didn't stop everything else from going crazy. So as far as I know, if someone from upstairs tried to catch my attention right now, the whole bar would still like…explode."

"Damn," said Jo with a frown. "That's a screwy system."

"Yeah. Imagine being the only one who can understand the lyrics at an Ozzy concert. The bass is still shaking your bones, and the guy next to you is still vomiting on your shoes, but you're the only one who knows what's going on."

"Really?" Jo snorted, and looked at Kat skeptically. "You listen to Ozzy Osbourne?"

"Not personally. But like you said, I've been working here for a week. You pick up a few things. Classic rock seems to be the universal language."

Kat smiled, and jabbed at the cue ball. She finally sunk the green ball into the pocket.

It was no surprise that Jo still won the game. This time she had no shame in plucking the bills out of Kat's hand. She counted them out with relish, and then stuck them in her apron.

"What do you say? Wanna go again?"

"Double or nothing?" Kat scoffed. "Yeah, I'm not loving those odds."

"Alright. Better idea."

Jo beckoned Kat over to the bar, patting one of the stools so Kat would sit. She walked around the counter, pulling out the cash box so she could swap the bills for a thick pile of fives. Then she grabbed a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses and set them onto the counter.

"So there's a hundred dollars here. Each question you answer, I give you a five and take a shot. Every time you pass, I keep a five and you take a shot."

"You're asking me to play twenty questions?" Kat asked, laughing at the absurdity.

"Hey, do you want your money back or not?"

She plopped down on the stool next to Kat, and poured the first two shots. She held up the wad of money tauntingly, and placed it on the counter between them. Cautiously, Kat picked up her shot, and they toasted to start the game.

"We'll start off easy," Jo began. "When'd you lose your virginity?'

"E-Excuse me?" Kat spluttered. " _That's_ your easy question?"

Jo smiled, and drummed her fingers on the pile of fives.

"Fine. Sixteen."

"Alright." Jo slid her a five, and tossed back her shot. "When was the last time you had sex?"

"Wait, no," said Kat, holding up a hand. "Don't you have to answer?"

"No. That's not how twenty questions works."

"Don't you think that's kind of an invasion of privacy?"

"Yeah, and if you answer my questions, you'll be fifty dollars richer. When was the last time you had sex?"

Kat narrowed her eyes. She took the shot of whiskey.

"Chicken," Jo accused. "Fine. My mom said you own a gym. Why?"

"Because that's what I told her."

"What? No, I meant…"

"Then be more specific."

Kat poured Jo another shot, and slipped a five dollar bill out from under her hand. It was worth a few overly invasive questions to see the girl pout at her.

"Fine. _Why_ did you decide to open a gym?"

"To help people," said Kat. "It's a women's gym, and I teach self-defense. I like knowing that someone might feel a little bit safer or more confident because of something I did. Same reason I hunt."

"How long you been hunting?"

"About two and a half years. On and off, obviously."

"On and off? What does that mean?"

"I mean, part-time," said Kat. "I spend most of my time in California running Warrior Women. I only really took cases when they were sent to me. My friend Marcus would send me the info, I'd go take care of it, and then I'd come home. My mom takes care of the store when I'm gone. It's usually only a couple days tops."

Jo was staring at her, taken aback.

"Sorry," she said, shaking her head. "That's just not something you see too much. Someone who wants to do both."

"Trust me, I know. I think every hunter I've crossed paths with has told me to give up the pipe dream and settle for one or the other. But I think it's just about balance, you know? Most hunters don't do anything else because they let the job consume them. That's what happened to my friend Marcus, Sam and Dean. But knowing that I've got to go back to something—I don't know. I make less stupid decisions. Maybe I save less people in a month, but hopefully that means I'm around a little longer to help more people in the long haul."

"And that doesn't drive you crazy?" Jo asked. "Sitting at a desk, working a normal job when you know what's out there?"

"Sometimes it does. But I'll never be able to save everyone. And when I'm at work, I'm still helping people, just in a different way. Not all problems come from spirits and monsters."

Jo nodded, and slipped Kat a few of the bills.

"At least your job doesn't suck," she said, looking despairingly around the bar. "I grew up waiting tables. Only thing this place does to help people is give 'em a few drinks to forget their problems."

"I don't think that's bad," Kat offered. "It gives people a place to kick back, rest, find people with shared life experience."

"Shared life experience?" Jo repeated skeptically. "What do you think this is? Dateline?"

"Shut up, you know what I mean. It's an information hub. The way Sam tells it, your mom never really got out of the game. She just put down the shotgun and moved to the research end. That's still helping people get saved."

"It's not the same," Jo insisted, shaking her head. "All your talk about balance is great and all, but that was never an option for me. Mom didn't want me out there at all. She told me as long as I was living under her roof, I wasn't allowed to hunt. So I left. One or the other."

"And you don't think she's softened her stance?" asked Kat. She was almost amused by Jo's stubbornness. "Jo, your mom would love if you stuck around for a couple days before you left again. She's praying that's what you'll decide to do. She's not gonna throw you out on the street because you want to hunt."

"You don't know my mother," Jo snorted.

"No, but I know the type. I mean, I walked out on my mom to hunt and I didn't even know what I was doing. I left with a complete stranger because I was so hung up on figuring out the truth, on getting revenge for my sister, that I didn't care what it meant. And that was right after we lost my dad."

"Fuck," she sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't know that part."

"It's alright. I'm just saying that I thought my mom might never want to see me again either. But she did, because she's my mom. Your mom isn't keeping you here to punish you. She just misses you. She as much as told me she knew you'd end up hunting someday. The way things are going, she's just afraid she's gonna lose you."

"I'm not a kid," Jo snapped. "I can handle the job."

"I'm sure you can. But you don't have to die for her to lose you. Not if you stop coming home."

Jo frowned, and took another shot for the kick of it. Things had bottomed out pretty quickly with all the drama. The teasing mood was gone, replaced by the depressing lull that came with difficult decision and heavy thinking. Kat took another shot too.

"You know," she said, throwing Jo a teasing grin, "your mom also told me you might be jealous that I was hunting with Sam and Dean."

"Jealous?" Jo coughed out the word, her eyes wide. "Why would I be jealous? I've been working my own cases for like a year."

"Well, yeah, but if the hunt's not the appeal…" She trailed off, pouring their next round of drinks. "So which one of them do you have the hots for?"

Jo glared at her, and pocketed another one of the fives.

"My game. My questions."


	29. Chapter 29

Despite their heart to heart, Jo decided to hit the road the next day. A hunter friend had texted her about a case in Texas that he needed backup on. The news had sparked an argument between Ellen and Jo over breakfast, Ellen arguing that Jo shouldn't jump into another hunt while she was still in stitches, and Jo arguing that her mother was overreacting because she thought Jo was stupid enough to "fall for another Gordon." Kat wasn't sure what that meant, but the accusation had set Ellen off, and there'd been a lot more screaming. After that, Jo had stormed out again.

A few days later, Bobby had called to let her know that the flowers he'd ordered must have reached their destination. He knew this because he had received a very loud phone call from her mother, who had railed up and down about dragging her daughter into such a dangerous situation, stashing her God knows where, and refusing to give any details. He seemed a little miffed that Kat had thought to give her mother Bobby's number in the first place, but Kat defended that she'd done that long before she'd gone into hiding and told her mother explicitly that it was for emergencies only.

 _"Well she definitely qualifies her 'baby girl' going MIA as an emergency_ ," he'd grunted. _"Made that pretty damn clear."_

"Sorry, Bobby," Kat sighed, twirling the phone cord around her finger. "I know she was probably furious, but uh…did she say anything like…?"

 _"Yeah, she still loves you. She knows it wasn't your fault, but she's angling to call me every day for a bulletin on your state of mind."_

"Well you can tell her I'm never gonna agree to that. Just tell her you haven't heard from me today and hang up on her."

 _"I might if I wasn't so worried she'd track me down out here. Seems like the type to pick a state and go door to door until she gets lucky."_

"You're not wrong," said Kat with a smile. "But seriously, Bobby. Thank you for doing this."

 _"Yeah, yeah. Don't ask me to do it again."_

Sam and Dean had also called the Roadhouse to check in—not because they had any real information, but because Ellen had them convinced that she'd skin them alive if they went more than a week without calling her again. Kat only heard snippets from the conversation, but it sounded like the boys were somewhere up north, doing something Ellen found incredibly dangerous without any kind of backup.

"What are you, allergic to giving me peace of mind?" she'd snapped into the phone. "Dean Winchester, you pull a stunt like that again and I'll stick my shotgun so far up your ass, you'll be coughing rock salt."

Kat could only imagine what Dean said in response, because Ellen slammed the phone down so hard it was a wonder the handset didn't crack. Then she'd marched to the kitchen, muttering angry to herself about delinquents, and making customers scatter out of her way.

All in all, it had not been a good week for worried mothers.

As far as the Roadhouse went, Kat thought that life was getting a little easier. She still had to put a customer down from time to time, but she was getting better at filling orders and managing how long they would take to prepare. She already knew how to count down the cash box, and prepare deposit envelopes for Ellen. And cleaning was still cleaning, no matter what kind of business you worked at. Though cleaning the Roadhouse bathroom did make Kat long for the days she was only cleaning up after women, and not hunters who were so drunk they forgot how to aim.

She wrinkled her nose as she carried the trash out to the dumpster. She wasn't sure what was worse—the smell of piss or the smell of bleach. This was definitely a contender for worst part of the job.

"Hello, Katherine."

Kat screamed, and launched the garbage bag directly into the man's chest. He looked down at it curiously, and straightened the blue tie that was hanging askew from his neck.

"Fuck," Kat gasped, grabbing at her chest. "You gave me a heart attack."

"Your heart palpitations appear perfectly normal."

Kat glared at him. She wished she'd thrown the garbage harder.

"What the hell are you doing here, Castiel?"

"I needed to speak with you."

"No, I got that. I mean what are you physically doing here? I thought if you needed to contact me you were gonna become the little voice in my head."

She tapped her temple irritably, and Castiel frowned.

"I am still unpracticed in the ways of communicating to humans in my natural form. You've expressed concerns for the safety of the Harvelles' property. I thought appearing in my human form might make you more comfortable."

"No, yeah, I just wasn't…" Kat stopped short, narrowing her eyes at him. "Wait, when did I ever say anything to you about the Harvelles?"

It was something of a giveaway when Castiel—who could barely stop staring at her the last time they'd spoken—quickly averted his eyes to the wood paneling outside the bar.

Kat's jaw dropped in horror.

"Oh my god, have you—have you been eavesdropping on me?"

"I thought my intentions were clear when I told you I would not let any harm befall you."

"Yeah, I thought that meant sticking me in a safe house, not watching me twenty-four-seven! I mean, have you been watching me this whole time? When I sleep? When I go to the bathroom?"

"In moments of vulnerability, you would be especially susceptible to…"

"Fuck, Cas, I was joking!" She let out a screech of frustration and threw up her hands. "That's disgusting! And creepy and just—no!"

Castiel sighed, looking weary. It was the same face he'd worn the last time she went off on him, an expression that read that he did not have the energy or tact to placate her. It was an expression that filled Kat with righteous rage. If he hadn't learned his lesson from last time, that was his own damn problem.

"I apologize, Katherine," he said carefully. "I will attempt to consider your privacy more thoroughly in matters of your security."

"Do you have to call me that?"

He squinted at her, his head cocked to the side.

"Katherine," she elaborated. "Just Kat is fine."

"You shouldn't dislike your given name," said Castiel. He tilted his head back to look at the sky, as if considering it from her point of view. "Katherine—from Latin. It means clear, pure."

"Well I'm not feeling too pure at the moment," she snapped, holding up her bleach-scented hands. "Can I help you with something, or did you just come to fess up about spying on me?"

"I am not spying on…" He cut himself short at Kat's glare and, withering, redirected his sentence. "There is a group of demons just north of here. One of our garrisons was monitoring them, until yesterday they vanished."

"You just lost a whole bunch of demons? What, did everyone blink at the same time?"

"We believe they have resorted to hex bags," he said tersely. "Not unlike the ones your demon associate prepared for you."

Kat's hands clenched into fists. She wanted nothing more to start screaming again, to remind him that Ruby was anything but her associate, and she would sooner send Castiel to smite her than work with her again. But before her fuse ran out, a darker thought occurred to her.

"Wait, do you think they're on their way here?" she asked. "Do they know where I am?"

"No, we believe your position is secure."

"Okay. Then why are you here?"

Castiel regarded her for almost a full minute before he spoke.

"Intelligence suggests that the demons are rallying to break a seal."

"Alright," she said slowly, still not sure where he was going. "Shouldn't you be talking to Dean about this? He's supposed to be your go-to guy for this stuff, right?"

"The Winchesters are currently in Maine. We fear they would not arrive in time to prevent whatever the demons are planning. The angels would…appreciate your assistance."

"I thought I was under holy house arrest," she said coolly.

"No. Holy house arrest, as you say, would have been a secure room of Heaven's choosing. In light of the compromise we have made, I hope you will cooperate to return the favor."

"Favor?"

Her cool was gone now, bubbling rage returning.

"You think it's a favor that you dropped me in the middle of nowhere Nebraska and refuse to let me contact my family? That's what you think of as a compromise?"

"Yes."

Castiel took several steps forward, and Kat found herself rooted to the spot. He stared at her with impossibly blue eyes. She wondered if the human he was possessing also had blue eyes, or if it was something enhanced by his angelic presence. She shivered, though there was no breeze.

"Katherine," he said lowly. "Do you honestly believe me incapable of moving you wherever I see fit? Had I wanted to, I would have removed you from that hotel room instantaneously. Instead, we allowed you the privilege of choice. All we are asking in return is your assistance in protecting this seal."

"If it's so important," she countered, struggling to hold her ground, "why don't you do it yourselves?"

"I told you. The demons' movements are invisible to angel eyes. We don't know where they're going. Only where they were last seen."

Kat was going to make a dry comment about just how good the angels were at their jobs when Castiel smiled. It was small, calculating, almost smug. The whole effect was extremely off-putting, and Kat lost a few seconds trying to compose herself. He spoke before she could.

"I expected that you would be grateful for the opportunity to help. To do good work, get out of the house. We do not know when the opportunity to go on a hunt will present itself again."

He had her there.

Kat's restless arms crossed over her chest, and she fixed him with an unamused glare.

"What do you need me to do?"

Castiel's unsettling smile widened. Victory.

"We lost the demons on the fringes of South Dakota, a town called Ardmore. There were about twenty of them heading north, and they vanished when they crossed the town border. That is where you should start."

She waited expectantly, but he said nothing else.

"That's it?" she asked. "You don't know what seal they're trying to break? What kind of deadline we're working with? That's all you've got?"

"I already explained…"

"That it's everything you know, yeah. Whatever. Bang up job, Cas."

She pushed past him, picking up the garbage bag so she could dispose of it properly in the dumpster.

"I need an answer, Katherine," he said behind her. "Will you take the mission?"

"Yes, I'll take the damn mission, alright? Just get out of my…!"

Her complaint trailed off as she whirled around to face an empty yard. The bastard had evaporated before she even got a chance to properly curse him out.

"Fuck you," she grumbled, slam-dunking the bag into the dumpster. "And now I know you're listening to me. So double fuck you."

Kat hurried back inside to the bar. It was still pretty early, so there were only three or four customers. Everyone was sitting at the bar, and Ellen was mediating some kind of argument about full shotguns versus sawed-offs. She didn't even look up when Kat walked into the room.

Pretending to wipe down a table, Kat moved behind the men and waved to get Ellen's attention. Ellen nodded and held up a finger, turning back to the argument. Kat waved again, and circled the top of her head like a halo. Ellen squinted at her, at a complete loss, and brandishing her finger again. Kat barely contained a huff of frustration. She jumped, angrily forming the sign of the cross and jabbing a finger at the ceiling.

That one did the trick.

"Would you guys excuse me?" Ellen said politely. "I just got something to fix in back. No fighting. You break it, you buy it."

She followed Kat to the back room, and closed the door tightly behind them.

"Angels?" she asked immediately. "What the hell's going on?"

"Sorry, I was just talking to Castiel."

"If you were talking to an angel, why's my bar still standing?"

"No, he came in person. Scared the shit out of me by the dumpster."

"In person?" Ellen raised an eyebrow. "Well that's mighty considerate of him."

"Don't get excited," Kat said snidely. "Consideration and privacy aren't high on the angels' priority list."

"Well what he want?"

"There's a group of demons they were tracking. They think they're trying to break a seal, but they've got a bunch of hex bags that block them from the angels. You got a map?"

Ellen nodded, rummaging through the shelves while Kat cleared a spot on the table. She dropped the book, and Kat quickly flipped through to a map of South Dakota. She scanned the edges of the state, circling the town with a finger.

"Alright, so this is where the angels lost them, and Castiel said they were headed north. They're not sure what seal they're working on, but there's a lot of them. At least twenty, and that's if they haven't picked up more on the way."

"Shit," Ellen sighed, looking over Kat's shoulder. "But why tell us, anyway? Seals ain't your problem."

Kat bit her lip, hesitantly turning to face her.

"Ellen, I know things are busy around here, but I have to go take care of this. Cas said Sam and Dean are too far out, and if I don't wanna end up in one of Heaven's cushy time-out rooms I don't really have a choice. I'm sorry."

"Don't sweat it. I can afford to close down for a couple days."

"Close down?" Kat stared at her. "You were doing fine before I got here. You can manage a few days on your own."

"Oh, and let you waltz off on your own?" Ellen scoffed furiously. "No way in hell, sweetheart. Do I have to remind you that you've a got a damn death sentence on your head? And you wanna go tango with twenty plus demons solo?"

"I'll be with the angels," Kat reasoned. "Or they'll be with me or whatever. They just need me to figure out where they went."

"Yeah, and working with the angels always seems to turn out so well for y'all. The Winchester dumbass is rubbing off on you."

Kat sagged and pinched her nose. She knew that arguments against Ellen never went well. The woman always got her way, or wormed her way far enough into your head that your felt bad about getting yours. But Ellen had given up hunting for a reason. She'd told Jo to butt out for a reason. She was out of the game, and Kat didn't want to be responsible for dragging her back in.

"Ellen, I can't ask you to do this," she said firmly. "We don't know how this is gonna pan out. You've got a business to run. You've got family."

"Gee, sounds like someone else I know." Ellen patted her on the shoulder, and flashed her a quick smile. "Pack a bag, girlie. I'll kick out the riff raff."

An hour later, they were locking up the bar and hitting the road. Ellen had an old pickup truck that hadn't seen a lot of action in the past twenty years. Kat had her reservations—she didn't like the idea of throwing her bag on the open bed, let alone having their weapons back there. If they got pulled over, there was no nifty secret compartment to hide their extremely unregistered guns and occult paraphernalia.

But Ellen was one step ahead of her. There was a large tool bin she'd rigged to the back of the cab, full of wrenches and hammers and whatever else she had on hand. Under the false bottom was her hunting tools—holy water, salt casings, silver knives, and even a bow and arrow. Ellen winked at Kat when she asked, and threw her trusty shotgun on top of the pile.

It wasn't a smooth ride, exactly. Kat longed for the easy ride of her Prius, and her vast collection of CDs. But riding with Ellen was fun. She had the radio on some old blues station, and sang along in a surprisingly beautiful voice.

"What, no hard rock?" Kat had asked, making her laugh.

"Don't get me wrong, I love me some Kansas. But listening to that shit day in and day out is exhausting. I'll take some good old rhythm and blues wherever I can get it."

"Sounds good to me."

Ellen turned up the volume, and they kept on driving.

Ardmore, as it turned out, wasn't much more than a stretch of road and some dirt. There weren't any people in sight, let alone demons. They kept driving north until they pulled into Edgemont around six. There was a tiny steakhouse on the main road, filled with just enough people that they didn't stick out, where they decided to grab some dinner.

"So what do we do now?" Kat asked over her burger. "I mean, how exactly do you track a demon?"

"I been thinking about that," said Ellen. "Normally you'd track 'em through omens—lightning storms, croaking livestock, things like that. But if they're here on serious business, I doubt they're gonna be careless enough to leave a calling card like that behind. Otherwise the angels wouldn't have any trouble finding them again."

"Okay, so…what do we do?"

"Beats me. I figured your angel buddy might've told you something."

"No, I told you," Kat huffed. "All I got was 'Ardmore' and 'good luck.' Not even that. He teleported on my ass."

Ellen pulled a face, but moved past the question.

"Alright, what did you and the boys do in Ohio? How'd you get the demons to come to you?"

"We, uh…" Ruby's face flashed in front of Kat's eyes, and she coughed. "We didn't do anything. The demons were already looking for us, so we just burned the hex bags and let them come."

"Huh. Well that's not an option."

"What about you?" Kat asked. "You ever take down a demon?"

"Plenty of times, but I don't go looking for trouble like that. Sulfur will tell us where they've been, but it's not gonna help us jump ahead. Only other thing I can think of is holy water, and that's just gonna tell us when we've found em."

"So what? We just keep driving north and throw holy water on every person we drive past?"

"Yeah, that ain't gonna go well," Ellen sighed. "There's gotta be something…"

She trailed off, and both women retreated into their heads. Kat ordered a beer. Ellen ordered a beer and then a tumbler of whiskey. They split a piece of pecan pie. They played a game of pool, which Kat lost terribly. They climbed back into the truck, and listened to the radio for another hour or so.

Darkness was falling quickly, but they weren't getting any closer to a plan. Kat wondered if she should call Sam and Dean. Handling seals was their job, after all. Even if they couldn't make it back to help save it, they might be able to point her in the right direction. But even then, the thought was fleeting. She'd barely had the mission a day and she was already trying to call it quits. She didn't want to ask the Winchesters for help, no matter how badly she might need it. Castiel had given her the mission with the confidence that she could help. Since the asshole had been spying on her day in and day out for half a month now, he ought to know her limits. If Heaven thought she could do something to help, she was gonna do her damnest.

"Well, I've got nothing," Ellen sighed. "They could be headed to the Arctic for all we know."

"This is pointless," Kat groaned. "The only way we're gonna be able to find them is if we know where they're going. And we're only gonna know where they're going if we figure out what seal they're trying to break."

"Far as I see it, that brings us back to you."

"Me?" Kat asked, turning to Ellen in surprise. "Why me?"

"You were working with Bobby, weren't you?" she pointed out. "Translating all that nonsense, researching what it meant."

"Well—Well yeah, like a month ago. But I don't have any of that stuff with me. All my research is at my apartment, with my mom, who I'm not allowed to contact under any circumstances."

"You remember any of it?"

"Not much. Bobby must've sent me like three hundred pages of shit to sift through. We weren't even sure they were all seals. It was just stuff."

"Great," Ellen said, nodding tersely. "Well that puts us directly back in the center of goddamn nowhere."

"Sorry. Last month I didn't think I was gonna be in witness protection fighting off two dozen demons. I was a little…" Kat paused, staring at the dashboard. "Wait a second. What did you say?"

"What? That we don't know what's going on?"

"No, no. You—You said the center."

"Geez, I was speaking metaphorically, alright?" Ellen said reproachfully. "I realize we ain't in Kansas. I just meant…"

"No, I know what you meant. Can I borrow your phone?"

"My…?"

"Your phone, Ellen! Gimme your phone!"

"Woah, alright! Hold on!"

Ellen fished her cell phone out of her jacket, and was barely ready to pass it when Kat grabbed it out of her hand. She didn't even need her contacts list anymore. She'd gotten so much practice dialing Bobby's number that she could do it by memory.

 _"Hey there, sweetheart."_

"What?" Kat stopped, turning to Ellen in revulsion. "Actually, I don't wanna know."

Ellen grabbed the phone back and put on the speakerphone, unamused.

"Hey, Bobby. It's Ellen. I'm here with Kat."

 _"What are you doing callin' on this number? Was expecting the Roadhouse phone."_

"We're out of town," said Kat waving a hand. "It doesn't matter. I need you to look…"

 _"Out of town?"_ Bobby asked incredulously. _"What the hell do you think you're doing more than ten feet outta that bar? You're on lockdown for a reason!"_

"Relax, Bobby, I've got a permission slip. Castiel sent me out on an errand."

 _"That don't mean you go, girl. The angels don't seem all that worried about humans that die on their errands."_

"Listen," Kat said, rolling her eyes. "Castiel dragged me kicking and screaming to the Roadhouse to keep me safe. He's not gonna turn me loose if he thinks I'm gonna get whacked two steps out the door. We're in South Dakota. There's a bunch of demons trying to break a seal, travelling north out of Ardmore. I need you to look something up for me."

Bobby grumbled, but Kat could hear the rustling of paper as he moved to comply.

"Thank you."

 _"Yeah, don't come crying to me when you've got demons up to your ears. What are we looking for?"_

"It was one of the last things you sent me," said Kat, taking the phone back from Ellen. "Big book. Something about being in the center of everything?"

 _"You're gonna need to give me more than that."_

"Alright, uh…it was like some kind of illuminated manuscript. Ancient, lots of pictures. Weird shit like knights fighting snails and monks playing trumpets with their asses."

 _"That doesn't exactly narrow it down, Kat."_

She groaned, and wiped her hands over her face. Pressing her palms against her eyes, she tried to visualize the pages of notes he'd sent her.

"Okay, um…you had post-it notes all over it. I guess you didn't want to write on the parchment. It was black pen, and then there was this huge ink mark and you switched to blue."

 _"Right. I got it, just a second."_

Ellen and Kat exchanged confused looks as Bobby put down the phone to go look for the book. He was back a few seconds later. His voice sounded strained from the effort of holding the massive text.

 _"Got it. Opiza's Revelations. Gimme a second to find the page."_

"Hold up," said Ellen, shaking her head. "Butt trumpet doesn't narrow it down, but blue ink does?"

 _"I hate the stuff,"_ said Bobby defensively. _"Don't use it if I can help it. You got a problem with Georgian illustrations, you can take it up with Brother Maynard."_

"Bobby," Kat interrupted. "The center?"

 _"Yeah, I got it. Okay, it says, 'As when the divine is inversed in the center of all things.'"_

There was a beat of silence.

"That's it?" Ellen demanded. "Well shit. I thought we were actually getting somewhere."

 _"Don't give us a lot to go on,"_ granted Bobby. _"What's on your mind, kid?"_

"It could tell us where they're going, though. The center."

 _"Center of what?"_

"I don't know. I'm guessing here. What's the center of the US?"

"Lebanon," Ellen answered instantly. "I hear that shit from tourists all the time. But that's in the other direction."

 _"No, no, no,"_ said Bobby, catching on. _"Lebanon's center of the continental. Then we snagged Hawaii and Alaska. Hold on."_

He was gone for longer this time. Kat and Ellen both waited with baited breath. When he returned, Bobby sounded a lot more confident.

 _"Belle Fourche, South Dakota—geographic center of the fifty United States. Where are you now?"_

"Edgemont," said Ellen.

 _"Right. Looks like it's about two and a half hours north of you. Just keep heading up 79N."_

"North," Kat echoed. "I mean, it's still a long shot, but…"

"Better than anything else I've heard today." Ellen mirrored her smile, and shook her shoulder gently. "I'll be damned. Nice work, sweetie."

 _"You two headed there now?"_

"Guess so," said Kat. "We'll get a hotel for the night, take a look around tomorrow. Keep you updated."

 _"I'll look into this divine inversion thing. Let you know if I come across anything."_

"Thanks, Bobby." Kat ended the call, but held the phone back when Ellen tried to grab for it. "Sweetheart?"

"Don't you dare," she said, and snatched the cellphone back from her.

* * *

 **A/N** : Alright, please suspend your disbelief while we jump into some original plot! I thoroughly enjoyed writing this chapter. It does throw into sharp relief just how hard the SPN writers work to make sense of their episodes. But we've got some more Cas and Bobby, two of my favorite characters to write.

I've also begun **a Misfits fanfiction** on the side, should anyone be interested. I will be publishing it chapter by chapter, rather than on a schedule like this story. Please let me know your thoughts if you check it out!

Thank you all again for your support, and I hope you're enjoying the story!


	30. Chapter 30

Belle Fourche, South Dakota looked just like every other part of South Dakota that Kat had ever seen. There was one long main road, a bunch of farm houses on either side, and a little farther north, a tiny town to support the tourism. It didn't seem like it got as much traffic as Lebanon, but there was still a little monument to stake their claim.

That was the first place Ellen and Kat hit the next morning in search of the demons. They brought disposable cameras and oversized water bottles, blending in with the rest of the tourists who were milling around the site. There was a nifty little museum too, covering the history of the town and the census that had redefined Belle Fourche as the geographical center of the country. But the employees were all very nice, and no one seemed to be doing anything nefarious. So after a couple hours, they decided to keep moving.

They hopped back in the truck and followed the road signs north to the actual center point, about twenty miles out of town. Here there were a few more cars, tourists taking pictures with their families in front of various landmarks. But unless the seal was meant to be broken by the sacrifice of horrendous matching sweaters, there wasn't anything for them out there.

After that, they decided to follow the walking and biking path around town. It was mostly out of desperation, hoping they might come across something—anything to point them in the right direction. But Kat was in her element. She hadn't been on a run in almost a month. She wasn't running of course, not with Ellen bitching behind her the whole way. Still, even walking out in the open, being in a place with green grass—it made it easier to breathe. Almost enough to make her feel better about not having a lead on the case.

Well, almost.

"You heard from Bobby?" Kat asked, once they'd given up and gone to Dairy Queen.

"Nah," said Ellen. "Guess he's still buried in the library. What about you? Heard from your angel buddy?"

"Hard no. I'm not sure how I'd call Castiel even if I wanted to. For someone who's supposedly watching me twenty-four-seven, he's not all that great at listening."

She glared pointedly at the ceiling. But if Castiel was eavesdropping, he did not take the bait.

"Well, screw him," Ellen said helpfully. "What about the boys? You give them a ring?"

"Yeah, but no luck. Castiel said they were in ass-nowhere Maine, so I'm guessing they don't have any cell service."

Ellen nodded thoughtfully, and turned back to her food.

"I'll give you one thing," she said, jabbing at Kat with a fry. "You're a good liar."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't patronize me, Katherine. It took me all of three minutes to realize you're not the type to ask for help. You're too proud."

"I'm—This is not about pride," Kat spluttered.

"That's exactly what it's about. You don't want to admit that you're in over your head, and you'd rather be pissed at Sam and Dean than accept that you need their help. Just one of those boys has more experience with demons than you and I have combined. And with talking to angels, and with saving seals."

"Not exactly." Ellen fixed her with a sour look, and Kat shrugged. "Well as far as I know, they've only dealt with two seals and they didn't save either. So, technically."

"I'm not interested in technically," Ellen snapped. "In case you forgot, we're talking about the entire damn world here. I don't want to lose it because you're too chicken to make a phone call."

"Look, if we needed Sam and Dean, I'm sure Castiel would have said something to them. But he didn't. He asked me."

"So now we're deferring to the halos you keep blaming for trashing your life. Right."

Ellen turned back to her burger, making a noise of disbelief that made Kat's skin itch with indignation. She sat up straight, and was about to argue when something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye.

"What if we didn't have to call Sam and Dean?"

"Well then you best start thinking like them, cause this case just hit a dead end."

"Not anymore."

Kat nodded out the window. Across the street was a small strip of businesses—a boutique, bar, jewelry store, and so on. Owners and customers alike were sticking their heads out to peer down the street, where a cop car had pulled up in front of a pet shop. An officer had already climbed out of the car and was interviewing a worried woman out front. More than worried, she looked frantic, and kept gesticulating wildly to the store.

Ellen ruffled.

"You got lucky."

"Hey, a break is a break."

Kat gathered up her garbage and dumped it in the trash can closest to the counter. Looking around, she flagged down the closest employee.

"Hey, um…not to pry, but do you know anything about what happened next door?"

"Oh that's nothing to worry about," the cashier said, shaking their head. "Nothing dangerous, I don't think. There was a break in last night. Poor Gloria's been in a state all morning."

"Gosh, that's awful," said Ellen. She'd stepped up next to Kat, leaning over to listen in on the gossip. "The things people will do for money these days."

"Well that's the worst part," gushed the cashier. "They didn't _take_ any of her money."

"Really?" asked Kat. "Then what did they take?"

"Her cats."

"Her…?" Ellen stared. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I know!" The employee nodded fervidly. "It's the weirdest thing. Cash box didn't have a scratch on it, and all the dogs were still in the pens. But every cute little kitten just—poof! Gone. Some sickos, right?"

There was a shout from back in the kitchen, and the cashier quickly bowed out of the conversation. Ellen and Kat shared a dubious look.

"Well I'd say that definitely qualifies as weird," said Kat, leaning back on the counter.

"For sure," Ellen agreed, "but it doesn't exactly scream 'demon.' More like…I don't know, crazy animal rights activist."

"But then why not take the dogs? If they were crazy enough to break in, I don't see why they wouldn't just take everyone."

Ellen didn't seem to have an answer for that. She peered out the window, watching the exchange next door.

"You really think it's worth asking? We go over there, we could blow our cover. For all we know the cop's one of 'em. Or the shop owner, or anyone else."

"Do we have a choice?" asked Kat. "You said it yourself, we're at a dead end. We don't even know for sure that we're in the right place. We could sit here people watching for days while their army marches up to the center of Canada. And that's _if_ we're even right about the seal."

"Alright," she sighed in resignation. "How you wanna play it?"

They headed back to the truck. Kat kept watch while Ellen jumped up into the bed, rummaging through her toolbox for some fake IDs. Their options were pretty limited, considering how long it'd been since Ellen had been on a hunt start to finish. Like Kat, she preferred to wait until she had all her information and then take the monsters out in one clean strike, rather than poking around playing detective. But she had an old sheriff's badge for special situations, and deputy credentials that she tossed over to Kat.

She let Ellen take the lead as they walked to the pet store. This made it easy to hide behind her when the officer looked up sharply from his interview. He did not look pleased by the company.

"Can I help you ladies?"

"Sure hope so," said Ellen, flashing her badge. "Sheriff Morden, and this is Deputy Wright."

"Sheriff?" the shopkeeper repeated, turning to the officer in surprise. "You called in reinforcements?"

"No," the man said tersely, peering at them over his aviator sunglasses. "No, I did not."

"Not trying to overstep," Ellen assured him. "We were just passing through when we heard about your situation here."

"Well the situation is perfectly under control. Thank you, ma'am."

"I'm sure it is, officer. But see, we had a similar incident back home, couple hours south of here. Just hoping you could tell us what happened, maybe help us decide if it was the same gang."

"I'm not sure that would…"

"It happened somewhere else?" the shopkeeper demanded. She waited for Ellen's confirmation, then rounded on the officer. "Jeff, she said it happened someplace else! Did you hear her? How come you didn't tell me this had happened to someone else?"

"Gloria, I only got in about an hour ago. I haven't had time to look at…"

"Jeff, every single one of my cats is gone! Taken! And I'm not the only one! I'm telling you, there is a—a gang of terrible, dangerous people and they need to be stopped!"

"Ma'am, could you just walk us through what happened?" Ellen asked, catching the woman's attention once more.

"Of course, I—I locked up last night just like I do every night. The store closes at eight, but it takes me a few hours to get everyone brushed and ready for bed. Getting the animals settled, cleaning up, closing down. I don't think I left until after midnight. And then this morning I came in at eight o'clock, and everything looked exactly the same! The door was still locked, the cash box still had everything in it, but all the cats are just gone! They're all gone and I don't know where they went or why they took them or how the _bastards_ got in!"

Gloria covered her mouth with a hand, evidently surprised by her own language.

"You said the door was still locked when you came in this morning?" Kat asked. "And you're sure you locked it last night?"

"Absolutely."

"Is there anyone else with keys to the store?"

"No, no. It's just me. And I checked the back door, but that was locked too. I have no idea how they could have gotten in."

"Nothing like this has ever happened before? A break in, threats…?"

"Never!"

"Our crime rate is next to zero around here," the officer said haughtily. "Break ins aren't common in these parts."

"Well, with a force like yours I'm not surprised," said Ellen with an indulgent, almost flirtatious smile. "We don't want to get in the way of your investigation. I was just hoping we could take a look inside, maybe take a few pictures, and see if these are serial break ins we're dealing with. Only if it's alright by you, of course."

The officer considered her, his face impassive. Kat tried very hard not to laugh. Every inch of the man said, _"You've_ got _to be shitting me."_ He was probably as likely to let them onto the premises as he was likely to start stripping on the sidewalk.

But then, he nodded.

"Two minutes," he agreed, pulling out a business card from the back end of his notepad. "And I'd like to see a copy of that incident report from your precinct. If it's alright by you."

It was a miracle Kat's jaw didn't drop open.

"I'll make some calls," said Ellen with a grin. "Be on your desk in a few hours."

"Looking forward to it."

He watched them over the top of his unnecessary sunglasses as they walked into the building. Kat waited until the door shut behind them with a soft jingle, and she was sure that he'd gone back to interviewing Gloria.

"Damn, El. You have got to teach me how you do that."

Ellen laughed, taking a look around the store. "It ain't magic, Kat."

"Are you kidding? That guy just pulled a one-eighty because you tossed him a weak lie and half a compliment. If that's not magic, I don't know what is."

"I run a bar. I deal with men who've got egos bigger than their britches every day. Plus, I'm a mother. Lots of practice making people do things they don't wanna do."

She patted Kat on the back and moved to survey the rest of the room.

There wasn't much to look at. One or two rows of shelves ran down the middle of the store, stocked with pet staples like food and toys. There were a few glass cases lined with paper strips—play pens for animals on display—but no one had made it out just yet. Presumably, the disappearance of the cats had distracted Gloria from setting up shop.

Kat paced the perimeter while Ellen moved behind the main counter. She pulled a cash box out from under the desk and flipped it open with ease. The thing wasn't even locked.

"So what exactly are you hoping to find in here?" Ellen asked, leafing through the bills and papers in the box. "Cause I still don't see how a bunch of stolen cats is screaming 'demons' for you."

"I don't know," said Kat, scanning the floor tiles for any sign of sulfur. "Just demon-y things. There isn't anything else going on in this town to look at. And I mean, a robbery with no missing cash? No broken windows, no forced entry? That's kind of weird, right?"

"Yeah. Or not."

Ellen turned to the computer that was set up at the counter. She pulled the keyboard toward her, and in a few quick strokes, brought the screen to life. She fixed Kat with a pointed look.

"I'll give you one guess what the password was."

"Puppies and kittens?" Kat asked witheringly.

"Password," said Ellen, holding up a small strip of paper from the cash box. "And she still had to write it down."

"Alright, so the place isn't Fort Knox."

"You kidding me? I've seen cardboard boxes that were harder to get into than this place. Ten bucks she's got a spare key she keeps on top of the door frame outside."

"Fine, but why the cats?" Kat asked. "You've got to admit that's weird."

"Not really," Ellen argued. "Small town like this, bunch of kids with nothing to do? Wouldn't be hard for someone to find that key and decide to wreak a little havoc."

"By stealing cats? Only cats?"

"Don't look at me. Kids are weird. Why do you think cow tipping's a thing?"

Kat huffed. Abandoning her inspection, she crossed the room to Ellen. She leaned on the other side of the counter, and lowered her voice pleadingly.

"Can you just go with me on this? I know it's not a lot to go on. But you've probably worked cases on less. Ever since we talked to Bobby, I just feel like—I don't know. It feels like we're on the right track. Like we're getting somewhere."

"Well, I think it feels like you're forcing the shoe to fit." Ellen brushed off Kat's noise of complaint, continuing, "And there's nothing wrong with that. I mean, I get it. The angels gave you this mission, you're stir crazy from staying at the Roadhouse, and you don't want your first trip out to go south. But the longer we stay here trying to find something that doesn't exist, the closer those demons might be getting to breaking the seal."

It was infuriating to know that Ellen had a point. They were flying blind and on the clock, but as far as Kat could see, there wasn't much of a plan B. If the demons weren't headed for Belle Fourche, then they could be anywhere. They could be headed to the center of a state, a continent, a hemisphere. Fuck, they didn't even have to be headed to the center of anything. If they were planning on breaking a different seal, Kat and Ellen wouldn't even be back at square one. They'd be completely off the board.

"Look, we knew this was a long shot," Kat reasoned. "I just wanna see it through before we change gears."

Ellen frowned at her, and shot a weary glance out the store window to the curb.

"Fine. One minute. Then Super Trooper's probably coming in to kick us out."

"Deal. Let's duck in back, check out where the cats are supposed to be. Then we can go."

They headed through a door at the far end of the store, following the muffled sounds of barking and whining. Seven or eight dogs were running circles round their crates, which was more than Kat had been expecting in a small town pet store. The cages lined the walls and stacked up to nearly eye level. At a glance, there were more than a dozen unoccupied cages. Maybe they hadn't all been inhabited, but…that still left a worrying amount of felines missing.

"Don't smell much besides puppy," Ellen observed as they paced the room. "Dog food, kitty litter, dog shit…"

"No sulfur though," Kat agreed.

She peered into a few of the empty crates anyway, hoping to see trace amounts of the fine powder spread over the newspaper lining. Nothing jumped out at her. The most interesting thing she managed to find was a few tufts of fur in one or two of the cages. She was really hoping those were natural hairballs, and not a sign of a fight.

Just when she reached the far end of the room, Kat felt a crunch under her shoe. She looked down, getting ready to kick the stray piece of kibble away, but paused. Granted, she hadn't owned a pet in years, but she didn't remember cat food being that dark.

"Hey, Ellen, gimme some light here?"

Kat got down on her knees and carefully picked the piece up between her fingers. It was rock solid, and almost completely black. Maybe that's why it took so long for her to process what she was seeing.

"Oh my God, is this…?"

"Bone," Ellen confirmed, peering down over her shoulder. "And that don't look like a wish bone to me."

"Oh no, ew. No, no, no. Ew."

Kat quickly dropped the scorched bone, where it clattered back to the tile. Frantically, she rubbed her hands on her jacket.

"Don't be a baby," said Ellen, rolling her eyes. "You've had a hex bag before, right?"

"Yeah! That's when the bones are hidden inside a bag and not it directly my hand! I don't wanna hold baby bones!"

Ellen pushed past her and picked the discarded bone off the floor. She held it up, squinting at it in the light from her flashlight. "It definitely looks like that's what it is. Maybe you were right after all."

"Right about what, ma'am?"

"Jesus Christ!"

Kat yelped, and spun around to the doorway where the cop from outside had snuck up on them. He yelped too, jumping back and raising his hands over his face.

She didn't waste time. In an instant, Kat grabbed the holy water out of her back pocket, unscrewed the lid with a flick of her wrist, and wound up to throw. But Ellen seized her arm in a vice grip at the last possible moment.

"Woah, woah, woah. Sorry there, officer. Gave us a damn fright."

She laughed, but held Kat's wrist tight behind her back. There was no room to wriggle free.

The man recovered, shaking off any surprise or pain he might have been feeling to fix them with a hard glare—harder than Kat thought two regular women would have deserved.

"Jumpy," he said tersely, jutting his chin out toward Kat.

"Oh, you know the fresh ones," said Ellen casually. "Always jump first, look later. Might be the reason someone hasn't passed their firearm cert yet."

Ellen's fingernails dug pointedly in to Kat's wrist behind her back, and Kat forced her lips into a tight smile. "Sorry."

"Fine," the officer replied. "You two find anything?"

"Just this." Ellen handed over the baby bone without even the slightest hesitation, dropping it into the man's hand with a shrug. "I was just saying it don't look like cat food, but search me for what it actually is."

He held the bone up to the light, turning it back and forth. Without a word, he pocketed it.

"I think it's time you two left."

"Yes, sir," said Ellen. "I'll give my people a call about that report right now. Good luck with your case."

She nodded to him, and half-dragged Kat out of the store.

"What the hell was that about?" Kat demanded, the moment they were safe at the truck. "That was a fucking demon, and you know it!"

"No, I do not."

"Are you kidding me? 'I think it's time you two left'? Flinching at Jesus's name?"

"Yeah, well you also leapt about a foot when he crept up behind you. Hell, I jumped you were so loud."

Kat huffed, shaking her head. "I should have holy watered his ass."

Ellen stopped. She walked back around the truck to face Kat head on, fixing her with a steady stare.

"Listen, girlie. You have got to stop thinking like a fighter, and start thinking like a hunter."

"I am thinking like…!"

"No, you're not. Say that was a demon. You squirt him, he screams, and then we've gotta fight our way outta a small town pet shop with a witness standing outside. No way we're doing that without showing our cards to the rest of the demons in town. And if you squirt him when he's not a demon, then you just assaulted a law officer, and I gotta bail your ass outta county jail. This way, we're still under the radar, and we can do some more poking around before we've gotta go toe to toe with anybody."

Kat crossed her arms over her chest and shifted uncomfortably. Another point for Ellen.

"I told you—don't be a baby," Ellen said again, slapping Kat on the shoulder. "You did good, kid. Now we know we're in the right place. So let's do some more digging and see what a swarm of demons could be doing with a bunch of stray cats."

"Nothing good," Kat sighed, and climbed into the truck.

On the ride back to the motel, Kat flipped through a few of Ellen's old hunting journals. Well, Ellen had said they were hers, but Kat was smart enough to know that the handwriting inside wasn't Ellen's. She was also smart enough not to point that out.

She scanned most of the entries with disinterest, only looking for information about one thing. From what Kat had heard about the seals, more than one of them had to be broken with witchcraft—something that a lot of demons seemed to have experience with as part of their origin stories. She figured the dozen missing cats probably wasn't a good sign either. She'd never faced a witch herself, but Marcus had told her a few stories—enough to make her wary about handling one alone. The way he'd told it, a lot of demonic magic had to do with blood sacrifice. The more blood, the bigger the magic. If the demons needed more than twelve cats to fuel their ritual—well. Kat didn't really wanna think about that.

There wasn't much to find in the journals, though. Ellen and her husband had only recorded details from a few witch cases, and none of the notes had to do with the magic being performed. It was just about how they took the witches down. Besides a few mentions of dead birds and rabbit feet, there was nothing to point her in the right direction.

Of course, Kat knew what the best thing to do was. But she was still feeling territorial about the case—her case—and she didn't feel like calling Sam to ask if he had experience with a dozen dead cats.

The truck lurched to a stop, flinging Kat forward in her seat.

"Shit! What—Ellen, what the fuck?"

Ellen shushed her, and nodded out the front window. They were just in front of the motel, idling on the shoulder outside the parking lot. There were only a few other cars, and almost no one in sight—just one short blonde woman crouching in front of one of the doors. Kat realized with a lurch that it was the door to their room.

"Hold on," she said, squinting at the back of the girl's head. "Is that…Jo?"

"Oh, it best not be," said Ellen, though the fury in her voice only confirmed Kat's suspicions. "I am going to murder her."

The truck sprang forward again, peeling into the parking lot so fast it actually made Jo jump up from her place in front of the door. Judging by the way she quickly hid her hands behind her back, she'd been trying to pick the lock.

Ellen was beyond words. She stormed out of the truck and grabbed her daughter by the arm, ignoring her yelps of protest as she unlocked the door. She shoved Jo into the room, and it was only luck that Kat made it inside before Ellen slammed the door shut behind her.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded, rounding on Jo.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Jo yelled back. "Looking for you!"

"Well, you found me. Good job. Get going."

"Are you kidding me? Do you know how freaked out I've been? I called the Roadhouse about a hundred times!"

"Oh, so you check in now?" Ellen scoffed.

"That's what you wanted me to do!"

"I wanted you to call and let me know you were still breathing, not launch a manhunt to track me down. What happened to Texas?"

"I was halfway there when I called home and no one picked up. How was I supposed to know you were alright?" Jo demanded. "Kat's on a demonic hit list, and the last time you didn't pick up it was because the house burned down! I couldn't get through to the landline, you weren't answering your cell. If I hadn't called Bobby, then…"

Ellen laughed derisively, tilting her head back to roar at the ceiling. "Oh, Bobby Singer I am going to kill you!"

"…then I would have thought you were dead!" Jo finished angrily. "All the shit you give me for not checking in, and you go on a hunt for the first time in years without telling me?"

"Joanna Beth, there is a difference. I am your mother. And I know what I'm doing."

"Oh do you? Cause Bobby didn't seem to think so."

"Well Bobby Singer ain't gonna be thinking much after I get my hands on him," bit Ellen. "I cannot believe he told you where we were going."

"I don't blame him," said Jo. "Twenty-something demons? You need back up."

"No."

It was a wonder Ellen still had enough control to shake her head. The rest of her body seemed to be positively vibrating with rage, and her face was rapidly becoming red.

"Absolutely not. You are not staying. You're getting back in your car and flooring it down to Texas or Idaho or wherever the hell else you've got a case that's not here."

"Hell no!" Jo yelled. "I am way more prepared to handle this than you are!"

"Excuse me? What did you just say to me?"

"I am ready, and I am not running away from this case!"

"Yes, you are. This ain't your case."

"It's not yours either! It's Kat's!"

In unison, Ellen and Jo both whirled around to glare full force at Kat. She'd been standing quietly on the other side of her bed, trying to put as much physical distance between herself and the destructive whirlwind of mother-daughter drama on the opposite end of the room. At their attention, she blanched. No fucking way was she getting in the middle of that.

"What did you mean, Jo?" she asked instead, choosing her words carefully as the wires of a ticking bomb. "About being prepared for this?"

She had not chosen her words carefully enough.

Jo's face broke into a smug smile, and she reached a hand into her bag to pull out a manila folder. Ellen might as well have been trying to turn Kat to stone with her mind.

"You said the angels lost the demons outside of Ardmore, right?" asked Jo, spreading her pile of papers out over one of the beds. Against her better judgement, Kat moved closer to get a better look at them. "Well, I was talking to Bobby when I called, asking about the seals and how they've been broken."

"And he told you?" Kat asked suspiciously.

"Give him some credit," said Jo. "I had to keep his phone lines tied up for about an hour before he'd tell me anything. He only started talking to get me off his back."

"At least he's got some sense in him," Ellen snapped.

Jo ignored her.

"He was saying that a lot of the seals need rituals to be broken, witchcraft and stuff. I figured that made sense, since most demons…"

"Were witches before they died, yeah," Kat finished, waving her on. "Got that. What'd that help you find?"

"Animal theft," she answered. "Missing pets, animal hospitals, pet stores. It's a lot of shit to sort through. This is barely half of what I found. And these? They're all cats—just cats. There's been a couple incidents through Nebraska and South Dakota. Just about follows where your demons should be travelling."

She passed Kat a map, half a dozen red X's marked onto the page. It was a loose trend, but they were definitely headed north. There was no way to tell for certain if they were all connected. Kat wanted to say that they weren't—that cats went missing every day for completely mundane reasons that were not ritual sacrifice. But just holding the paper gave her an increasingly terrible feeling. If it was the demons, if they'd robbed not just one pet store but several… That wasn't a dozen cats. That was fifty. That was a hundred. And if the demons needed that kind of juice, they were almost certainly walking into something they had no business handling.

Kat looked to Ellen, trying to hide her hesitation. But even Ellen seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

They would have gone back to fighting had Ellen's cell phone not gone off. The ringing cut through the tension of the room, making all three women freeze. Ellen held up a finger to Jo—one that clearly said their argument was far from over—and answered the call.

"What? …Oh, great. And was that before or after you started running your mouth to Jo about where we were? …Bobby Singer, I will skin you. Do you have any idea…?"

Ellen stopped short as Bobby cut her off on the other end of the line. Kat and Jo exchanged nervous looks. But whatever he'd said must have been good, because Ellen huffed and held her tongue. She put the phone on speaker and dropped it on the bed.

"How bad?" she asked.

 _"Real bad,"_ Bobby's voice answered flatly. _"Hoping you're gonna prove me wrong bad."_

"That's comforting," Kat sighed, already raising a hand to her forehead.

 _"You sure the demons are in Belle Fourche?"_

"Yeah, they're here," said Ellen. "Kat and I just got back from a crime scene in town—a dozen missing cats, and burned baby bones on the floor. Looks like it came out of one of their hex bags."

"Wow, missing cats," Jo grumbled. "Why didn't I think of that?"

Ellen frowned at her, but let Bobby continue on to the important stuff.

 _"Well there ain't a lot in Belle Fourche besides you three—a couple bars, a couple shops. Only two things that might get someone's attention are that memorial and Pine Slope Cemetery."_

"Is there anything special about it?" asked Kat.

 _"Not in particular. But it got me thinking about that whole 'inverse of the divine' bit. Christianity's only got one big endgame, and that's death. Inverse that, you got a shitload of unholy ground and a bunch of undead bozos breaking your seal."_

"That's a lot of ghosts," said Ellen darkly, and Bobby actually laughed.

 _"I ain't talking about ghosts. We're talking about the inversion of death—taking a dead body and reanimating it."_

"You mean like a zombie?" asked Kat in horror.

"No way," said Jo, shaking her head adamantly. "Zombies aren't real."

 _"Not in the Hollywood sense,"_ Bobby conceded, _"but a year or two back Sam and Dean caught a case with some dark magic, some lame ass college kid who tried to bring his friend back to life so he could mack on her. Unrequited love and all that."_

Jo wrinkled her nose. "Gross."

 _"Well the boys tried to put her down, but nothing would stick. Salt, silver, the works. Nothing left a scratch on her."_

"So what did they do?" asked Ellen, arms folded over her chest.

 _"Only thing they could do. Pinned her back in her box, buried her up and left."_

"Wait, what?" Kat demanded. "So she's still…?"

 _"Nah, her corpse reverted when it returned to the grave,"_ Bobby explained. _"They left the silver stake in, though. Just to be safe. Closest thing to a zombie I ever seen."_

"Alright," said Ellen, waving a hand, "so that's all awful and terrible. What do the demons actually have to do to raise someone like that?"

 _"Well, ritual's ancient Greek. You'd be hard pressed to find a copy of it, but I did some calling around. It's your standard witchcraft gig—symbols carved into the coffin, incantation, animal blood. But it's all gotta be done under a new moon. That puts you ladies about twelve hours to go time."_

Kat's stomach lurched. She'd known, in theory, that at some point they might have to take down the demons. In theory, she'd been ready. But somehow hearing her deadline made the whole thing so much worse.

"You said blood, Bobby?" asked Jo, looking over her print outs. "How much blood are we talking?"

 _"Not much. Couple drops, maybe."_

That was probably meant to be reassuring. But the silence that followed his words was anything but. Kat looked between Ellen and Jo, all of them silently asking the same question. How much blood was in one cat?

 _"What's wrong?"_ Bobby asked when he didn't get a response.

It was Jo who cleared her throat.

"Bobby, I looked up those missing animal stats like you suggested? And…there's gotta be at least a hundred cats that have gone missing this week."

"Lot more than a couple drops," Ellen observed darkly.

Bobby sighed, but did not offer any more comforting words. After a few seconds, Kat bit her lip.

"I don't wanna be the one that puts it out there, but…we've gotta assume they're raising more than one body, right?"

 _"I'd figured that much,"_ Bobby admitted. _"These tasks are supposed to be gargantuan, shit that really takes effort. If one hapless college kid could raise someone from the dead, I doubt God would add it to Lucifer's get out of jail free card. But twenty demons, hundred cats—they might just be out to raise the whole damn yard."_

"Sounds a little more on the money," Ellen agreed. "How many bodies you think that is?"

 _"No idea. I can dig around for some stats. But the seal is the actual ritual. You've gotta get to these demons before things get that far."_

"And what if we can't?" asked Kat. "What if we fail?"

 _"Take my advice and don't."_

On that cheerful note, Bobby ended the call, leaving the three of them standing around the end of the motel bed.

"Well that's great," Kat bemoaned, crossing her arms so tightly it was nearly painful. "Thanks a lot, Bobby."

"Hey, he did a lot of footwork for us," said Ellen. Kat couldn't imagine how she was keeping her voice so level. "Seal aside, it'll be a lot easier to handle twenty demons than twenty demons and a hoard of zombies. So let's focus on plan A and figure out how you and I are gonna stop this ritual."

"How the three of us are gonna stop this ritual," Jo corrected.

And then they were right back where they'd started.

"What about 'not your case' did I not make clear?" Ellen snapped, turning to her daughter. "Joanna Beth, you are not staying in this town. I don't want you in the damn state!"

"So what, I'm just supposed to leave you behind to fight a bunch of zombies by yourself? That's insane!"

"And it's why I don't want you involved."

"Mom, you just said it yourself. Two hunters against twenty demons? That does not have good odds."

"Oh, and you think three will make it so much better?"

"It's better than doing nothing!"

"I am not doing nothing, Joanna. I am trying to protect you and…"

"No, you're trying to hide me!" Jo interrupted, seething. "You just keep pushing me away from the fight and telling me it's for my own good! That's all you've ever done! How am I supposed to learn if you don't let me out there?"

"You are out there! All the time! And you made it pretty damn clear you didn't want me to _let_ you do anything. So go ahead. Take your ghost cases solo, go back to not calling home. You have to live your life, Jo. But I won't let you give it up to work this case."

Both women stared at each other, eyes sharp and jaws set. It was as if they were about to explode, either in shrieks or tears. There was no telling which.

Jo swallowed thickly, and dropped her eyes from her mother's gaze. When she spoke, her voice was softer, but still firm.

"I know you keep saying this is out of my league, but I'm not letting you do this alone. If this is about saving a seal, stopping the Apocalypse, then everyone's got a stake in it. You can't tell me it's none of my business."

Her tone threw Ellen off, and her determined expression of rage slipped ever so slightly. She pursed her lips, held her ground.

"I don't want you here if things go south."

"And I don't want you here if things go south," Jo countered. "Looks like neither of us is getting what we want."

"Actually, I think you should both leave."

Ellen and Jo turned to Kat, eyes wide with surprised. Kat wasn't sure which one of them looked more offended.

"Look, I know what I have to do," she reasoned. "And it's gonna be a lot safer if you two steer clear."

"Wow," Jo was laughing, almost impressed. "No offense, but you're full of shit."

"I'm serious."

"That's your plan?" Ellen demanded. "Stroll in there solo and take twenty demons alone?"

Kat shifted uncomfortably. "Not entirely alone…"

Ellen gaped at her. Slowly, her mouth stretched into the same disbelieving smile as Jo's.

"Wow. That is one real dumb ass plan you've fixed for yourself."

"It's the best one we've got."

"No. No, any plan where you walk in there without back up—and I mean _real_ back up—is not the best plan anyone's got. I made a promise to Sam and Dean that I was gonna do my best to keep you safe. So no matter how determined you are to get yourself killed, I am not letting you go out there alone."

Kat frowned. She did not want to drag Ellen and Jo through the dirt with her. Clearly, they had enough issues to sort out without her adding her own problems to the mix. One being that both women were too stubborn to compromise on almost anything that came up. That was something they had in common. Now, Ellen and Jo both stood across from her, glaring at her in defiance, daring her to tell them one more time to stay out of her way. Kat already had to face twenty demons and a possible hoard of zombies. She wasn't about to add the Harvelles to that list.

"Fine," she agreed, looking back and forth between them. "Let's do this."


	31. Chapter 31

**TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains descriptions of torture and battle violence. Please proceed with caution.**

* * *

It was dark when they rolled out. Even darker because of the new moon. The only lights over the cemetery were the stars, and somehow they seemed even farther away than usual.

After much debate, they'd decided to take two cars. Ellen wasn't thrilled about letting Jo out of her sight again, but Jo had argued that it was smarter to have more options. Having two cars kept things flexible. They could take one if they had to flee, or both if they needed to split up. And bringing Jo's car meant double the arsenal. Eventually, Ellen had let it slide.

Kat was riding in the front seat of the truck, her eyes glazed over as she stared out the window. She had no idea what she was doing, or how things were going to pan out. Right now all they had for a plan was to show up at the cemetery and hope for the best. No one had gotten a chance to think much farther than that. She was partly relieved that she didn't have time to overthink it. On the other hand, this numb paralysis wasn't much better.

"Any word from your friend?" Ellen asked as they pulled up in front of the cemetery.

"Uh, no," Kat admitted. "Nothing yet."

"You still wanna do this?"

"Not like we've really got a choice."

She'd expected Ellen to shrug in agreement, even let out a dry laugh. But instead the woman turned to consider her. Her eyes were probing and serious.

"You okay?"

"Fine." The word sounded ridiculous in her mouth. "Maybe not. I just keep thinking about how stupid this is."

"Your plan?" asked Ellen. "Cause that is pretty damn stupid."

"Just…all of this. Charging in to face twenty demons half-cocked because an angel that won't let me talk to my mom said I had to. It's all insane."

"We could always leave."

Kat huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, right."

"I'm serious," Ellen insisted. "Castiel asked you to find out what the demons were up to, track 'em because the angels couldn't. You did that, against all odds. Wouldn't blame you if you said it's in their hands now."

"I couldn't do that," Kat sighed, looking back out the window.

"Why not?"

She braced herself. She knew how bad it was going to sound—worse than lying and saying she was alright. But it was the truth, and the only words she could come up with.

"Because that's not what Dean would do."

Ellen stared. "Well, color me shocked."

"Don't. I'm just saying."

"Kat, you're not Dean Winchester. And thank God for that. I don't think the world could survive two of that self-sacrificial smart-ass."

"He's the only one that can save the seals," said Kat. "That's why Castiel brought him back."

"Well from what you told me, he hasn't been doing a bang up job of it. Especially if Castiel turned around and asked you to step in."

"I'm a last resort and I know it," Kat said sharply. She turned in her seat to face Ellen head on. "I'm supposed to be stepping in for Dean, but…I've only been hunting a couple years. I've faced three, maybe four demons? And now I'm supposed to take on twenty? For the fate of the universe? If Sam and Dean haven't been able to save any of these seals, how the hell am I supposed to?"

"Sounds like you've got a mighty high opinion of them," Ellen observed coolly. "I thought you hated the Winchesters."

"Sometimes I do, or…whatever. But God chose Dean to do this. There's gotta be a reason, right?"

Ellen mulled that over. She looked past Kat out the window, surveying the graveyard that was waiting for them. Kat wondered if she could seriously consider walking away from it all. If Jo hadn't gotten involved, if she wasn't trying to protect Kat, could Ellen really leave it up to a handful of beings she knew nothing about? She didn't think so.

"Look," Ellen sighed. "The only thing Dean Winchester's got that you don't is experience and a mouth that's bigger than his sense. I love the boy to the grave, but he's allergic to making smart choices. And leaving right now? That would be the smart choice. So if you decide you wanna go in there are give it your best shot, really give it your all to make sure this ritual doesn't pan out, I think you're already halfway to being Dean. And that's good enough for me."

The darkness broke as Jo's Volvo pulled up behind them, her headlights blinding in the rearview mirror. Ellen patted Kat on the knee and hopped out of the truck, probably to make a last ditch attempt at asking Jo to leave. But Kat stayed in her seat just a little longer.

So she didn't have a plan. What else was new? She was a fighter, not a strategist. All she could do was go in and give it a shot. It wasn't like Sam and Dean were much better. They might have had a Scooby-Doo scheme every now and then, but on most hunts they seemed to be flying by the seat of their pants. So maybe she wasn't that far off. Charging into a demon-infested cemetery half-cocked was exactly what Dean Winchester would do.

Willing herself to feel a little more self-assured, Kat slide out of the truck.

Ellen and Jo were waiting at the trunk of Jo's car. They argued silently as they loaded shotguns and pistols. It was more subdued than the last demon hunt Kat had been on. Sam had demonic superpowers, Dean the demon-killing knife. They'd walked in knowing they could actually do some damage. At best, all Kat could do was hold the demons off until it was too late to perform the ritual.

"You ready?" Ellen asked, handing Kat a saw-off.

"Yeah. You two good on the plan?"

"Do we have a plan?" Jo asked snidely. Her mother shot her a look.

"Yeah," said Kat. "Fight until you hear my signal. And try not to die."

"Super."

Jo slammed her trunk closed, and the sound echoed in the darkness. But she and Ellen didn't move. They were waiting on Kat. When it came down to it, it was her mission, her call. Somehow, the person with the least experience had been put in charge.

Kat beat the thought away, turning to face the cemetery. Self-assured. What would Dean Winchester do?

She took a deep breath, and led the way into the graveyard.

There was another problem that hadn't occurred to them until the last minute. Now that Kat was leading the way, it struck her that she had no idea where she was going. They knew the demons would be at the cemetery, but that didn't exactly narrow things down. There were still endless plots of land to look, hundreds of graves and no clear starting point. The demons could be anywhere.

"You don't think they're digging up everyone, do you?" asked Kat, panning her flashlight over the closest headstones. "No way twenty demons could do that in one night."

"Unless they were meeting up with reinforcements," Jo added lightly.

"Well let's hope not," said Ellen.

They walked deeper into the yard, moving quietly so they would hear any outside movement. But Ellen was right. There didn't seem to be anyone around. No demons, no caretakers, and no sign of any kind of cat.

The night was getting darker. Kat checked her watch compulsively. The minutes were slipping by, and with them went all the faux confidence she'd built up in her chest. She had no idea what she was doing. She had no idea where she was going. She had no idea how long she had. Bobby had said that the ritual had to be done on the night of a new moon, but he hadn't mentioned any time. Was it midnight? Three o'clock? Whatever hour the moon was at its peak in your corner of the world? Or could it just be whipped out whenever you wanted? For all she knew, all the poor cats had been strangled and there were a thousand zombies waking up in the dirt below their feet.

"This is bullshit," Jo complained. They'd finally made it full circle, with no demons in sight. "What the hell are we supposed to do now?"

"Something's up," said Ellen. "Even if they did have back up, they would have started by now. Way Bobby made it sound, they'd have to carve those symbols into every coffin on the lot. No way they'd wait this long to start digging them up."

"What if they're not?"

Kat had stopped, staring transfixed at one of the headstones. But it wasn't the marker that had her attention.

"They're not what?" Jo asked her.

"Digging them up. We're thinking about this all wrong. These aren't hunters—they're demons, witches. They don't need to see their targets to mark them. They just have to know where they are. After that, it's magic."

"So what, they're using a shortcut?" Jo looked from Kat to her mother. "Some kind of spell to brand the coffins without digging them up? Can they do that?"

"I don't see why not," Ellen said with a shrug. "Long as you knew exactly where it was."

"Right," added Kat. "And where would you go if you wanted to find out where every single body was buried in the lot?"

All three women turned to the center of the property, where a small brown house was sitting on the side of the road. They had shied away from the record building, assuming that's where all night shift employees were hiding. The lights were on, movement clear in the windows. Not one of them had batted an eye.

"I hate smart demons," Ellen grumbled.

They crept over to the building, doing their best to keep to the shadowy parts of the night. Back to the siding, Jo crouched under one of the windows and peeked up over the sill.

"Nine demons," she reported in a whisper. "Two behind the front desk, two pacing on watch, and five or so at a table I can't see. Probably the pregame ritual."

"That's only half of them," said Ellen. "You sure the angel said twenty?"

Kat nodded. "Maybe the rest are cat-sitting."

"Okay, so what do we do?" asked Jo. "This only works if we take them all out, right? It's a one-person ritual."

"So we lure out the rest. Make them call for back up."

"That is one dangerously stupid idea, hon," Ellen warned.

"Yeah, well I'm fresh out of good ones."

Pretending her confidence was still intact, Kat moved toward the door. She patted herself down—gun, salt, holy water pistol. It was bigger than the one she'd lost in Kentucky, about the size of her real handgun. Jo had laughed when she saw it, but Kat wasn't fazed. Walking into a room full of demons where they were outnumbered three to one, she'd take any kind of weapon she could get her hands on.

Ellen and Jo moved up behind her. Again, Kat had to push away the thought that their lives were in her hands. She'd given them the chance to bail. They hadn't taken it. Now it was up to her to do the job right.

"Alright, what would Dean Winchester do?" Kat mumbled to herself, shaking out her arms. "What would Dean Winchester do? What would Dean Winchester do?"

She kicked open the door to the records building, greeting all nine of the shocked demons with a bright smile.

"Hi. We're here for the ASCPA meet up? Heard you have a _ton_ of cats up for adoption."

One of the guard demons recovered and made a move to tackle her, but Kat whipped the water gun out before he could leap. He skittered to a halt, snarling.

"Good choice," she offered, "cause I will take out every bitch that gets between me and Whiskers. You have some black cats, right? Figured they'd be your favorite."

"I thought you two might show up."

It was one of the demons behind the counter—the officer they'd dodged at the pet store. He stepped back from the staff computer, tucking his stupid sunglasses into his shirt pocket. When he grinned at them, his eyes were black.

"You're not very covert for hunters. I could smell you a mile off."

"Told you he was a demon," Kat hissed over her shoulder.

Ellen snorted. "Eyes front."

"I get the feeling you're kind of new to this," the officer chuckled. He walked around the desk to join them on the floor. "So I'm gonna do you girls a favor. Leave now, and I won't have to eat your insides."

"What are you doing with the cats?" Jo demanded, stepping up to Kat's right shoulder. She could see the barrel of her shotgun out of the corner of her eye.

The demon laughed.

"Sweetheart, this is about so much more than a couple of kitties. You really don't know what you've gotten yourselves into here."

"Oh, you mean the ritual?" Kat asked. "Slap a symbol on the coffin, drain a couple cats, get a zombie army? Or do you mean breaking one of the seals on Lucifer's cage?"

The officer's smile evaporated.

"That's right, officer. Cat's outta the bag." There was a beat of silence, and Kat craned her neck to look over her shoulder. "Too much?"

"Too much," Ellen confirmed. "Look, we know what you're here to do, and we're not gonna let that happen. So why don't you pack it up and head on back home down South before we make you."

"Make us?" The other demon behind the counter sneered. This one was a woman, with a thick Southern drawl. "What makes you think you could ever dream of doing that?"

"Over-confidence," Kat said with a shrug. "Or maybe we know something you don't."

It filled her with satisfaction to watch all the demons share looks of doubt and concern.

"You're bluffing," the cop said tersely. "Badly. What kinda C-rate hunter are you?"

"Wow, rude," said Jo.

"And dumb," Kat added. "Have it your way then. But remember. I just wanted a kitten."

She pulled her real gun, and shot at the guard who'd tried to jump her earlier. The bullet flew past him and shattered the window with an explosive bang. And that's when things dissolved into chaos.

The trick was to be sharp, but not too sharp. They had to fight back enough to stop themselves from getting killed, but the point wasn't to take the demons out. It was to cause enough of a racket that the rest would come running. Kat took out all of windows with near misses, gun in one hand, water pistol in the other. Jo shot two giant holes in the back wall with her shotgun, then shoved it into another demon's chest and kicked him in the nuts with a battle cry. Ellen was doing her best to cover them, hanging back to pick off the stragglers with salt rounds. When a demon tried to creep up on her back, she produced a knife from nowhere and stabbed him right in the eye.

"Try healing from that," she quipped over the noise.

Kat barely had time to laugh before another demon was jumping for her throat. Arms back, she grabbed the woman by the shoulders and ducked, flipping her over and into the next demon in one fell swoop. She spit, then turned to tackle the passing man that was headed for Jo's back.

Everything was too fast to keep track of. Just when they seemed to hit their stride, the doors flew open, and more demons came flooding in. Within seconds they were overrun. Four demons grabbed Jo and lifted her kicking and screaming off the floor. Ellen shouted, diving to her aid, only to be swept up by another group. It took six demons to restrain her.

The only one left standing was Kat. She snatched her water pistol from the floor, unscrewing the cap to slosh the remaining holy water on her attackers. The first wave of demons fell back, giving her a few seconds head start to swing and scratch at the next. But there were ten of them and only one of her. In a matter of moments, her hands were held tight behind her back. Each of her legs were pinned down, and another demon had her by the throat. She flailed, but there was no room to move.

Across from her, Ellen was still cursing up a storm. The demon she'd stabbed earlier spat at her, readying her own blade in his hand.

"Wait!" It was the cop, walking up from behind Kat with his hands raised. "We need to find out what they know."

"Nothing," the demon growled. "You said so yourself."

"Would you take a chance on a mission like this? You want to tell her the kind of intel you wasted?"

The half-blind demon hesitated. He spat again, his spittle red from the blood seeping out of his eye. "Just let me take a stab at her. She can still talk without her eyes."

The officer sighed and waved a hand. "Oh, fine. Whatever."

Jo screamed, writhing against the demons' hold, and was promptly punched in the stomach.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Kat managed.

It was hard to speak in a choke hold, but it got the demon's attention. The cop turned to look at her, probingly. He nodded, and the demon holding her throat loosened his grip.

"And why is that?" the officer asked, his eyes flickering black again.

"I just wouldn't risk it," said Kat. "You don't wanna piss off our people."

"Right. 'Your people.'" He sneered, taking a few calculated steps toward her. "No offense, sweetie, but I don't really give a shit about your people."

"I think that's kinda dumb since you don't know anything about them." His smirk flickered, fueling her confidence. "But that's your call, dude. Your mission."

"Then enlighten me." He edged closer still, right up to her face. "Who sent you here? Who told you about the seals?"

"Who told you, huh? Lilith?"

Without warning, a searing pain stabbed at her abdomen. Her knees buckled, and she choked against the arm of the demon holding her. The cop twisted the knife, then pulled it out again, waiting until Kat's spluttering stopped before he asked her again.

"Let's try that again. How do you know about the seals of Lucifer?"

"Fuck," she wheezed, panting against the demons' tightening grip. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…"

"I'm waiting."

He dragged the knife along her hip, leaving a thin slice in wake of the blade. The demon holding her left leg pulled at the skin, threatening to tear it wider. It hurt. God, it fucking hurt. She'd known the plan was risky, but she hadn't planned for this. It wasn't supposed to get this far.

"Oh come on now," the cop whispered. "Where's all that bravado now?"

The knife slid into her stomach again. He was taking it slow, being careful. Kat knew the knife wasn't hitting anything major, but it didn't stop the breath from leaving her body.

 _What would Dean Winchester do?_

"Sorry," she choked out. "I was just trying t-to…figure out…why Lilith w-would put a bitch like you in charge."

The surge of pain meant she was doing something right.

"Who told you about the damn seals?"

"I've got f-friends in high places."

He ripped the knife out, and punched her across the jaw. Kat wasn't sure what hurt more—her stab wounds or the muscle she pulled in her neck. She laughed through the pain, spitting her hair out of her mouth.

"Wow, you—you really don't know, huh? I guess Lilith d-didn't like you enough to tell you tell you everything."

"You little bitch," the demon hissed. He wound up, and punched her again. "You think I won't waste your pretty blonde ass? Cause you've got two friends just sitting around waiting their turn. Wonder if they're gonna hold out as long as you, huh?"

Kat pursed her lips. It struck her that everything tasted like blood.

"Now I'm gonna ask you one more time. Who sent you?"

She didn't want to say it. She wouldn't. The room was beginning to swim in her vision, and her head was starting to hurt. Her ears were ringing, and there was a pressure on her chest that felt like more than demons.

"C-Castiel," she murmured. Her eyes fluttered shut. "Please. Castiel."

"Castiel?" the demon echoed. "Who the fuck is Castiel?"

At first, she thought her legs were shaking. But the way the demons gasped, it couldn't be just her. It was the whole room. The computer let out an electronic screech, as if every program was opening at the same time, overloading the speakers. And through the numbing pain in her chest, Kat felt every inch of her body begin to tingle.

She lifted her head, grinning at the demon with a mouth full of blood.

"You're about to find out."

 _"Tell them now."_

"Now!" Kat screamed. "Jo! Ellen! Now!"

The room filled with light, and every one of the demons screamed. They released her, and Kat instantly fell to the floor. But just like the last time, her pain was fading away. It felt different, somehow. Even without looking, Kat could feel that this wasn't Anna. It was just as intense, but less peaceful, more warm. It might have been because of her adrenaline, or perhaps that was just Castiel.

In the end, Castiel did most of the work. Just the sight of him caused most of the demons to singe and scream, smoke filling the air as their eyes smoldered in their sockets. Burning alive kept them busy enough for Kat to finish the job.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas…"

The smoke thickened as the demons were ripped from their hosts. Black clouds billowed into the air, swirling with angry thunder and screams. Kat coughed, but the exorcism continued. Through the haze, she could just make out Ellen and Jo—crouching on their knees as they finished the chant with her, their eyes still clenched shut.

With an almighty rumble, the smoke vanished. After a few seconds, so did the light.

Kat clapped a hand over her mouth, bracing herself. She did not want to vomit again. If she started heaving, she knew her stomach would be in twice the pain that it already was. But thankfully, she did not feel sick. Maybe because it was her second time, maybe because Castiel was not quite as powerful as Anna had been, but Kat's body reacted with something much worse. Instead of vomiting, she began to cry.

"Kat?" Ellen lifted her head at the sound, her eyes still closed. "Kat, you alright?"

"Mom?" Jo was calling somewhere to the right. "Can we open our eyes yet?"

Ellen wasn't sure, but Kat didn't seem to be in any state to answer. The room didn't feel like it was moving anymore, and there was no high pitched whistle in her ear.

On a chance, she squeezed one eye open. The room had returned to normal. As normal as it could look with giant holes in the walls and twenty bleeding corpses on the floor, anyway. And in the middle of it all was Kat, her shirt stained and torn to shreds, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed into the floor.

"Oh, Katherine." Ellen was up in an instant, scrambling across the floor to Kat's side. She wrapped an arm around her back, trying to cradle her without jarring any of her wounds. "It's alright, honey, I got you. You're alright."

"Mom?"

"Yeah, Jo, you can open your eyes."

Jo crawled over, hovering awkwardly at Kat's side. "Is it her stomach?"

"Angel more likely," Ellen answered. "Sam said she puked her brains out last time she saw one. I think it's just overwhelming for her."

"Yeah, I'll bet." Jo sighed, and looked at the room around them. "So…we did it, right? We saved the seal?"

"Guess so."

"What do we do now? Are we supposed to just leave 'em here?"

Ellen raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, you feel like digging twenty graves about now?"

"No," she said defensively. "I'm just saying. Twenty out-of-towners with their eyes burned out is gonna get a lot of attention. So's arson."

"Well let's take this one thing at a time. Let's get her out of here first."

Carefully as they could manage, Ellen and Jo scooped Kat into their arms. She was still crying, and couldn't support her own weight on her legs. Ellen would have carried her, but she didn't want to make the stab wounds any worse. She was already in enough pain.

Jo's car was closer by a few feet, so they gently laid her in the backseat. Ellen was already calculating how long Kat could make it before she needed a hospital. But when she walked toward her truck, Jo hung back.

"What's up?" Ellen asked.

"We never found the cats."

"Really? That's what you're worried about right now?"

"It's not that I'm not worried about her," said Jo, rolling her eyes toward the car. "But that's a lot of cats. I'm just thinking, you know, did the demons already kill them? Are they stashed somewhere? Locked up waiting to be fed?"

Ellen shook her head, barely containing her laughter.

"Alright, if it's that important to you, we can go back and look for the cats. Those demons were waiting somewhere besides the record building. Maybe they've got a few cars or trucks nearby where they were keeping them. We can grab the keys from the bodies, then give Gloria a call down at the pet shop."

Again, Ellen started off toward her destination. Again, Jo stayed still. This time she was looking back at her car, her face full of worry.

"She'll be alright," Ellen assured her. "They were trying to torture her, not kill her. I bet she's had worse. But if we're gonna go, we've gotta go quick."

"It's not that. She's just so…"

"I think she just needs some space. Like I said, angels. Can't imagine seeing a thing like that."

Jo nodded, and hesitantly followed her mother back into the cemetery.

The truth was that Kat was only half crying because of the angel. Seeing even that small part of Castiel's grace had certainly pushed her over the proverbial edge. But for the most part, she was just filled with relief. She'd been so scared—absolutely fucking terrified. And it wasn't the torture or the pain that hurt. She was just exhausted from trying to keep a straight face. Pretending that she knew what she was doing, pretending she wasn't scared. It was worse than the rest all together.

If there was one thing Kat had learned, it was that she never wanted to be Dean Winchester ever again.

It was a long time before she stopped crying. The pain it was causing her stomach was made it feel less therapeutic. Ellen and Jo still hadn't returned from the graveyard. Presumably that meant they found the cats. Or some security guard had found them in the record building with a bunch of dead bodies. Either way, there was nothing Kat could do about it. All she could do was lie on her back, stare at the ceiling, and wait.

"Should I be prepared for all of your plans to be this reckless?"

Kat didn't even jump at the new voice. Her head lolled toward the front of the car, where a disheveled silhouette was now sitting in the passenger seat.

"It woulda been nice if you'd shown up a little earlier."

"My apologies," said Castiel. "After you surrounded yourself with the demons, it became harder to locate your voice. I came as soon as I could."

"Yeah," Kat groaned, "well I only got stabbed a few times. So don't sweat it."

It was lucky that she laughed at her own joke, because Castiel did not. He didn't smile, or scold her. He barely even turned his head.

Kat squinted at the vague shape of his head.

"What's wrong? We won, right?"

"Yes, and no." Castiel sighed, but still refused to look at her. "Pine Slope Cemetery was a distraction."

"A distraction?" Kat gaped at him. If she hadn't been bleeding from the stomach, she might have tried hitting him. "What the fuck do you mean this was a distraction? I researched that seal myself! I kicked that seal's ass! Or Lilith's, or whatever."

"You were correct about the seal. However, the angels wrongly assumed that this was Lilith's primary target. While we were focused on this location, she sent another group of demons to a graveyard in Tahiti. And there we were not so lucky."

"Tahiti? What the hell were they doing in Tahiti?"

Castiel turned. He peered down at her curiously in the darkness.

"Katherine, this is not a war of nations. It's cosmic. Any one of these seals could be broken at anytime, anywhere in the world. With our limited resources, it's difficult to keep watch at all times. Lilith is smart. She builds patterns only to break them, to lull us into false security. It is not the first time, and I fear it will not be the last. On all fronts, we're losing."

His eyes drifted away from her, out to some unknown piece of space. He could have been lost in his thoughts, or listening to other angels above them, maybe the prayers of some desperate soul nearby.

Kat frowned.

"Sorry," she offered quietly.

This time he did smile, though it was small.

"Some battles we win. Some we lose. But here, you were victorious. You should be proud."

"Do I get a prize? Maybe some more angelic pain killers?"

Castiel's smile turned stern. "Angelic healing is a miracle. Not a tool available upon request. There are some who say pain helps humans learn from their mistakes."

"Oh, so I'm the first human to save a seal and you're just gonna leave me bleeding in the backseat of a Volvo? That's cold, Cas."

He rolled his eyes. One arm stretched into the backseat, where his fingers brushed along her side. The pain ebbed again, the breath returning to her lungs.

"Rest easy," he offered. "The wounds aren't healed, but the pain should be manageable."

"Thank you," said Kat with a smile.

"Yes. Try and wait a while before making any other staggeringly bad decisions."

"Ha—ow!" Kat snorted, then clutched her stomach. "Don't make me laugh. It hurts."

She was so busy trying not to laugh, she barely heard the cock of the shotgun outside.

"One move and I blow your brains out."

Castiel turned around calmly, looking out the window and down the barrel of Jo's gun.

"Stand down, Jo," Kat called. "One of the good guys."

Jo squinted at him, but did not lower the gun.

"I should go," said Castiel.

"Yeah, probably," Kat agreed. "Thanks again, Cas."

He nodded to her, then once to Jo through the window. Then, in a ruffle of feathers, he vanished.

"Holy shit." Jo wrenched the door open, mouth agape. "Where…? Was that…?"

"Castiel, yeah. Just dropping in to say good work on the seal. And yell at me, but what else is new?"

"So that's what angels look like?"

"Just his vessel," Kat corrected. "I think he's borrowing a banker or a youth administrator or something. I don't ask. It gives me the creeps."

"Still." Jo pouted, looking at Kat reproachfully. "You didn't mention he was hot."

Kat laughed, loudly, and was quickly overcome with pain.

"Fuck, Jo, you can't say shit like that. Some of us got stabbed tonight."

"Sorry," she said with a grin.

Jo closed the door and walked around the car. Kat had expected her to open the back door and help her out, but instead she climbed into the driver's seat.

"Uh, Jo? A little help?"

"With what?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Um, getting to your mom's truck?"

"What, you wanna move? What's wrong with mine?"

"Nothing. I just figured you wouldn't wanna come all the way back with us. You've got a case in Texas, right?"

"Eh, I bailed." Kat could just see her shrug over the top of the seat. "Figured since my mom's one good waitress got herself stabbed I might stick around and pick up the slack."

"That's sweet, really. Thanks for your sympathy."

"Anytime. Besides, you need to learn how to play pool if you're gonna be a hunter. Poker, too. I know you've got a job and all, but there's gonna be times you can't make it home for a paycheck."

"Best part of having your own business," said Kat wistfully. "I don't really have to be there to make a paycheck."

"I guess that's fair."

Jo's voice was casual, but there was something uncertain there too. Her hands played with her keys, though she'd yet to start up the car.

"I was also thinking that...you know, once you've healed up and all, maybe you could give me a few pointers."

"About what?" Kat asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Fighting and stuff. Mom said you owned a gym, but I didn't expect you to be that good. You really held your own in there."

It was a compliment she had not been expecting, especially not at the moment. Blindsided, it was a surprising struggle to respond.

"Oh, uh…thanks."

"Yeah. I mean I'm good with guns and knives, but since Mom never really wanted me to get into hunting, I don't know a lot about hand to hand. Figure it'd be handy."

"Definitely," Kat agreed. "But you know, ghosts don't fight the same way guys do."

"Who says I'm only fighting ghosts?"

Jo caught her eye in the rearview mirror and actually winked. It was only because she was in so much pain that Kat didn't laugh again.

"Alright," she agreed. "You're on, Harvelle."

"Great. Now let's get your ass to a hospital."


	32. Chapter 32

**TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains allusions to past suicidal thoughts. It is vague, and most of this chapter is fluff. Still, please proceed with caution.**

* * *

It was amazing how normal everything was becoming at the Roadhouse. Kat still missed the gym, still missed being on the road, but there was something about the bar that was starting to feel like home.

It took longer than she would have liked for her stomach to heal. Even after she felt fine, Ellen wouldn't let her hold a tray with more than two drinks on it. It was annoying to a degree, but Kat knew she was just being worried. And at the bottom of it all, it felt nice to have someone worrying about her again. She hadn't spoken to her mother in so long, she'd almost forgotten what it was like to have someone nag you about the little things. Like being stabbed.

Since she wasn't allowed to do any of the heavy work, it left Kat with plenty of time to work on her hustling skills. She was getting pretty good, if she said so herself. Turns out you could get a lot more money from hunters by beating them in poker instead of waiting for them to tip you.

Poker was her strong suit. It was more about having a game face than actual skill, and Kat had always prided herself on being unreadable. Once Jo had taught her the rules, she picked it up fast. Pool she still had trouble with, since that was a different kind of coordination she actually had to practice. But Jo promised that she was getting better, and Kat almost believed her.

Kat wasn't sure what it was, but Jo had dropped a lot of the attitude since they'd saved the seal. Maybe she was riding off the high of being treated like an adult for once, but Kat liked to think she'd also earned some respect. They still snarked at each other for most of the day, but it was never sharp—mostly Jo ribbing Kat about how she was a useless gimp, and Kat making jokes about how Jo was a literal baby that knew absolutely nothing. All in good fun, of course. At least, Kat hoped it was.

As long as the bar was open, that was all they could really do for fun. After the Roadhouse closed though, things got real.

They were calling it "physical therapy." That was the only reason Ellen didn't shut them down screaming. She had to know on some level though. There was no way to spar without making just a little too much noise.

Every night after close—they were rarely too tired—Kat and Jo would move the tables and chairs against the wall and clear the floor of the bar. Ellen let them play music if they kept it low, which helped cover their yelps and laughs as they fought. It was a learning experience for both of them. Kat really was testing her limits and strengthening her core again. The last thing she wanted to do was tear out her stitches. And Jo was learning all the defense basics she could. She'd picked up a lot as a hunter. There was no way to hunt without learning how to fight. But learning by instruction and learning by necessity were two very different things.

It felt good to get back to teaching. Kat fell back into her role as instructor, leading warm ups, devising combinations, working through different exercises. Now, though, she could do other things too. For the first time, she started working with weapons—blades, guns, unloaded shotguns, whatever she could find on hand at the bar. Jo had even started trying to teach her how to throw knives. It was strange, and Kat was terrible at it, but it was kind of fun. Practicing in the Roadhouse, she didn't need to worry about hiding her hunter side. She could use it.

"Again," Kat called, beaming as she shouted orders over the music. "Last one, I promise. Maybe."

"Fuck you," Jo growled.

She swung hard, hooking an arm around Kat's and marking the knee up into her side. It was one of the rare afternoons where the Roadhouse was dead, so Ellen had given them free reign of the bar. The music was loud, and Kat and Jo were both drenched in sweat. They'd already been practicing for hours.

With a resounding smack, Jo twisted her body to Kat's back and shoved forward. She'd put so much weight into it that Kat actually tripped forward, tumbling to the ground without much grace. Her head promptly collided with a chair leg. Kat groaned, and Jo scrambled to turn off the music.

"Shit, are you okay?" She hurried over, grabbing Kat's hand and pulling her up to her feet. "Sorry. I didn't mean to do that."

"No it was good," Kat assured her, though she rubbed at her forehead. "You're definitely getting the hang of it."

"Thanks," Jo panted. "God, I feel disgusting. I need a drink. Beer?"

"Water."

Jo stuck her tongue out at her. "Health freak."

She disappeared down the hallway, stretching her arms as she went. The phone rang behind the counter, and Kat hurried over to get it.

"Harvelle's Roadhouse."

 _"Well you're certainly not Ellen."_

Kat rolled her eyes, and dropped the professional manner to pin the phone against her shoulder. "You dropped me here. I work here. I really don't know what you want from me."

 _"Hey, you don't have to get sassy,"_ Dean laughed. _"I was just surprised is all."_

"Cause I answered the phone at the place where I live?"

 _"Relax. I'm on a stake out, bored as hell, thought I'd call to check in."_

"You working a case?"

 _"Yeah, couple of vamps. Just waiting to move in."_

"Vamps are boring," she complained, slumping back against the bar. "Haven't you done anything interesting lately?"

 _"Sorry our lives aren't up to your standards,"_ he scoffed. _"There was one case we were looking into a while back. Paper said there was some big satanic ritual that went down. Pile of bodies, graveyard full of graffiti, 'bout a hundred cats locked up in cars. Idiots offed each other before they got to the sacrificial bit."_

Kat bit her lip. "Was that…South Dakota?"

 _"Yup. Not far from you. Figured it was a hoax, so we didn't swing by."_

"Yeah, that wasn't a hoax. That was us."

 _"Us?"_ Dean repeated. _"You and Ellen offed a bunch of locals and spray painted pentagrams everywhere?"_

"Well we didn't kill anyone, but Ellen staged the graffiti. It was a bunch of demons trying to break a seal."

 _"Woah, woah, woah. A seal?"_

"Yeah, Castiel asked us to take care of it," she said casually as she could. "I thought he would've told you."

 _"Well he didn't! What the hell did you think you were doing going up a bunch of demons like that? We stuck you at the Roadhouse to keep you away from demons!"_

"Relax, I had backup. And Cas was up my ass the whole time anyway. It was his idea in the first place."

For a moment, she really thought she was in for it. She'd been scolded so much for taking the job, nagged to the end of the earth back for not being smart about it. No one seemed to care that she'd actually got it done. The only person who'd even bothered congratulating her was Castiel. And angels weren't supposed to have feelings. How fucked up was that?

But Dean didn't seem to have the energy to argue with her.

 _"God, I fucking hate working with angels_ ," he sighed instead, and Kat snorted.

"Tell me about it."

 _"So you saved it? The seal?"_

"Yeah, for the most part. Cas said Lilith broke it someplace else a little while later, but I did my job anyway."

 _"Damn, uh…you alright?"_

"Fine. Just some light stabbing."

 _"Right,"_ he chuckled dryly. _"Fuck, Sam's gonna flip when I tell him."_

"I told you, I had a permission slip."

 _"You think that's gonna matter to him? You know how he gets. 'Talk to me. Let me help you. It's not your fault. Blah blah blah. Brave little soldier.'"_

Kat furrowed her brow. "We still talking about me?"

 _"Let's just say I don't need another reason for him to be on my case."_

"Oh my God, did you two actually try talking about something for once?"

 _"Shut up,"_ said Dean. _"I tried it, I hated it, I'm not looking to do it again."_

"Come on, it can't be that bad. What were you whining about?"

 _"Hell."_

"…Oh." She stopped short. Leave it to Dean to make her look like an asshole when she was trying to make conversation for once. "Well, good. You needed to."

 _"Yeah, like I need a stroke. How are things at the Roadhouse?"_

It was a graceless subject change, but she let it slide. She didn't need to deal with his bitching.

"Fine. I'm pretty much useless to Ellen while I've got these stitches, but Jo's around to make sure I don't shoot myself out of boredom."

 _"Jo?"_ It was almost comical how Dean's voice perked up. It must've raised an entire octave. _"She's home?"_

"Yeah, she's been picking up my slack."

 _"How is she?"_

"Good. She's sticking around for a while. If you ask she'll tell you she needs the extra cash, but I think she just missed it here."

 _"Great. That's—Yeah, that's great."_

He seemed to fumble with his words, struggling with his questions. Kat thought about what Ellen had said before, about Jo wanting so desperately to ride with the Winchesters. She wondered if maybe that connection went both ways. She pocketed the idea for later.

 _"You two getting along?"_ Dean asked finally.

"Yeah, she's nice. She's been teaching me poker, I teach her to fight. We have fun."

 _"So kind of a you scratch my back, I scratch yours arrangement."_

Kat glared a hole into the wall across from her. "Get your mind out of the gutter."

 _"I'm just saying. Must be a pretty picture you two behind the bar. Didn't realize Ellen was looking to open up Coyote Ugly."_

"Fuck you."

 _"Hey, howl all you want,"_ he laughed. _"Just don't go all Tyra Banks without sending pictures."_

Kat wrinkled her nose, but before she could come up with another scathing reply, there was a scuffle on the other end of the line.

 _"Oh shit, vamps on the move. Later, coyote."_

The line went dead, and Kat angrily slammed the phone back on the receiver.

"Damn," Jo laughed, rounding the corner back to the bar. "Was that Dean?"

"How'd you guess?"

"You sounded like you wanted to kill someone. I took a guess." She tossed Kat a water bottle, and leaned across from her on the counter. If she was trying to seem casual, she'd failed miserably. "So…how is he?"

"Fine," Kat said shortly. "Still a sleazy asshole."

"Geez, what'd he do now?"

"Nothing. Just cracking his stupid jokes. Something about _Coyote Ugly_."

"Wow, like I haven't heard that one a thousand times," Jo said with a snort. "Another crack about dancing on the bar?"

Kat deepened her voice, mocking Dean's gravely tone. "Don't go all Tyra Banks without pictures. Ugh, please."

"Exactly. No way you're Tyra Banks. You're definitely more of a Rachel—psycho temper." Jo dodged the dish rag that Kat threw at her, and put some more distance between them as she laughed. "Ha, that's not a bad thing! Rachel's funny. Mom's definitely Lil. She's such a hard ass. Hey, who would I be?"

"Oh uh…I don't know," Kat said with a shrug. "I'm not good at stuff like that."

"Come on, don't be boring. You've seen it, right?"

"Yeah, I mean…I think so. Maybe like a while ago. The beginning."

Kat turned back to the bar, grabbing a fresh towel to wipe her face. She chugged some of her water bottle, stretched out her arms, anything to stall. But before she could find a polite way to change the subject, Jo's jaw dropped.

"Wait, you haven't seen _Coyote Ugly_?"

"There's a lot of things I haven't seen," said Kat, rolling her eyes. "And I bet there's a lot of things you haven't seen. What are you, like twelve?"

"Don't change the subject. You haven't seen _Coyote Ugly_? Kat, you can't work in a bar and not watch _Coyote Ugly_. It's in the job description."

"Well in case you've forgotten, I don't really work in a bar," she said pointedly. "I'm not getting paid, and I don't like rom coms. What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that it's awesome and you're watching it. I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Answer about what?" Ellen peeked her head out from the kitchen. When she saw Kat's face, her suspicious eyes flicked to Jo. "Uh oh. What's going on?"

"Kat and I are having a movie night," she answered, "which means I am going on a supply run! Be back in a bit. I'll pick up dinner too. Chinese okay?"

She did not wait for an answer. Smiling more brightly than Kat had ever seen, Jo snatched her keys and practically skipped out the door.

Kat turned to gape at Ellen, who laughed. "Hey, don't look at me. I wasn't part of this."

"It's just one movie," Kat groaned. "It cannot be that important."

"Hon, it's not about the movie."

Kat frowned at her. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Ellen gave her an unimpressed look. With a huff, she disappeared from the kitchen window. She joined Kat behind the bar, slinging her towel over her shoulder in that authoritative way that only she seemed able to pull off.

"Not for nothing, but this is the longest Joanna Beth's stuck around since I had to build the place up again. I know she's gotta do her own thing, but it's nice having her around. Knowing she's back in her old room, that she's got a steady job, familiar faces."

"I get that," said Kat, not really seeing where Ellen was going with this. "I mean as much as she talks, I'm sure she misses this place a lot. She misses you a lot."

"Well there's that. But it ain't just me."

Kat stares at her blankly for several seconds before Ellen sighed.

"You, idiot. She likes hanging out with you."

"Oh." Kat blinked, a bit taken aback by Ellen's bluntness. "Yeah, I guess we..."

"I'm not guessing. I'm telling you. Jo's never had an easy time making friends. She knew too much she couldn't tell the other kids. Now that's one thing when you're a drifter like Sam and Dean, when you got a sibling you can spill to. But for Jo, it just meant she never got to fit in anywhere. Not at home, not at college. Most of her life she's spent hanging around drunks twice her age. So I am telling you. I know that she likes having you around."

It wasn't often that Kat felt bashful. Her hands felt strangely oversized, like there was no right way to hold or hide them. She settled them on her hips and forced a smile.

"Well, yeah. I like having her around too. I mean, I definitely get it. It's a lot easier when someone knows what you're talking about. When you don't have to hide anything."

Ellen nodded.

"You know, ever since you started this whole workout therapy thing I haven't heard her complain about working once. No bitching about how she'd rather be on a case, that she found a job in Tennessee or Florida or wherever. It's like she's actually enjoying herself for once. I can't remember the last time she honestly looked like she was having fun here."

There was a stretch of silence as Ellen became lost in her thoughts. Kat did her best not to move, not wanting to draw attention to herself. She still felt too big, awkward.

Eventually Ellen clapped a hand onto the bar, throwing Kat a tight smile. "Point is, I think you're a good influence on her. So thank you."

"Wow. I think that might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Yeah, well don't go feeling special. I want these tables and chairs moved back into place, and then you can clean the bathroom."

Ellen winked at her and walked out of the room.

"Come on!" Kat groaned, calling after her. "I thought I was on sick leave!"

"If you're healthy enough to hold fight club in my bar, you can scrub a damn toilet!"

By the time Kat had finished all the chores Ellen laid out for her, Jo was back from her errands. She'd certainly pulled out all the stops. Her car was packed with Chinese takeout, bags of junk food, pints of ice cream. She'd even bought a few cheap bottles of wine just for the occasion. It felt stupid to be overwhelmed by it all, but Jo seemed so excited that Kat couldn't bring herself to back out. How could she after the speech that Ellen had given her?

And so, after dinner, Kat found herself sitting on the end of Jo's bed, already changed into her sleep shorts and oversized T-shirt. She was as prepared as she could be. If Jo wanted to break out into an old-fashioned pillow fight, she would be ready.

"You can relax," said Jo as she flopped down onto the bed next to her. "It's just a movie."

"What?" Kat's eyes widened in frantic innocence. "I'm relaxed."

Jo was not impressed.

"You're doing that rigid thing with your face. It's the same thing you do when one of those assholes is chatting you up at the bar. Finding your zen so you don't punch someone."

Kat snorted. "I promise, I'm not gonna punch you."

"Yeah, that's super comforting." Jo laughed softly, staring down at her blankets. "It's fine. I know this is probably like, super weird."

"No, it's not. Really, Jo."

"Kat." Jo looked up at her, her voice flat. "It's fine."

"Okay, it's weird," Kat admitted. "But not because of you. Only because I'm twenty-eight and I haven't had a sleepover in like…years."

"Ha, try a decade," said Jo bitterly.

"Shit. Seriously?"

She shrugged, focusing on her blankets again.

"Give or take. Kinda hard to bond with people when you live in a bar full of hunters. Not like you can invite Mary Kate and Ashley over for pizza when there's ten guys rambling about the shritga they killed last week. I gave up on normal around middle school."

"Good point." Kat tucked her knees up against her chest. "I know what you mean, though. About not being able to bond with people. I mean, I didn't find out about all this until a couple of years ago but…school's hard when you know shit other people don't."

"Like what?" Jo asked.

"I don't know. Just how much life sucks. You're thinking about real shit while they're worried about study groups. And that's fine, that's them, but… It's hard to have a conversation about prom dresses when you're wondering if you're still gonna be around tomorrow."

Kat held her breath for a moment, but thankfully, Jo only nodded in agreement.

"Hey, their loss, right?"

She smiled, and grabbed two of the wine bottles off the floor. Pushing one into Kat's hands, she busied herself with the DVD player, smacking her tiny TV screen to life.

"Alright, now I'm gonna try and be the bigger person and say that you don't have to like it. No pressure. But I love this movie, and if you don't like it, we're gonna have some serious issues. Got it?"

"Got it," Kat confirmed. She cracked open her bottle and moved back against the headboard. "Roll the film."

She wasn't entirely ready to admit it, but the movie was good. She hadn't loved the synopsis of "girl dances on bar for money," and a lot of those scenes had been wildly unbelievable. Not her taste at all. Still, the writing was decent, and the music was great.

Better than the movie was watching Jo watch the movie. Her eyes stayed glued to the screen, hardly blinking in the hour and forty-seven minutes of run time. She whispered lines under her breath, and giggled happily at all her favorite parts. As the wine disappeared, things got worse. Her singing got louder, her dance moves crazier. At one point she was jamming so hard that she threw her head back into the headboard, yelped, and almost fell off the bed. Kat couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed so hard.

When the movie was over, Jo launched into an interrogation. She wanted to know everything from Kat's favorite song to, on a scale of one to ten, just how attracted she was to Adam Garcia. They were so busy talking, they hardly noticed when the movie started over again in the background.

"What's it like?" Jo asked, once they'd worn out the movie talk and gone through too much of the wine.

"Jo, you've been on a hunt with them," Kat groaned. "You know what it's like."

"No, no, no." She shook her head, so much it was almost more of a wobble. "Sam and Dean came to Philadelphia to babysit me. That's not the same thing."

"Well they used you as bait right? Sounds like you were pretty important to the hunt."

"Right? I was! You know I put that whole case file together myself? The building details, the disappearances. All me. And then they went ahead and stole the case, used me as bait, and made me sit in this gross dungeon waiting to get strangled by this mega ghost. Right after I'd been buried alive, thank you very much."

"Sounds pretty cut and dry to me," Kat said sagely. "Your research, your risk, your hunt."

"My hunt! Thank you!" Jo held up a finger, chugging down a few more gulps of wine. "That doesn't get you off the hook though. That's the only time I've ever worked with them, and it was my case. What's it like on a Winchester hunt?"

Kat sighed, and plopped back against the headboard. She stared up at the ceiling, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Honestly? It's kinda terrifying."

"Well, yeah. It's the Apocalypse."

"No, I mean…even when they're not on one of their God-sent missions, it's like they can't find a normal case. Everything's gotta be weird. Some new creature no one's heard of before, or one that only comes out every two hundred years. People in costumes, monsters that are crazy on top of being supernatural. Like, the job is hard enough on its own. But with them it's just so much worse. There's just this moment and—and you know you're in way over your head. But you can't leave them, and you can't win. It's like drowning."

"They always find a way out though," Jo offered. "Mom always said if there's one thing Winchesters are good at, it's getting out of tight spaces."

"I'm not a Winchester," Kat said flatly. "So that doesn't apply to me."

"They wouldn't leave you behind. Not if they could help it."

"Well, sometimes they can't."

Kat could feel Jo's eyes on her as she took another drink. The wine was making her bitter, and she knew it. Normally she wouldn't have bothered fixing it. But there was some kind of understanding behind Jo's eyes. It was easy to forget she wasn't the only one who'd suffered from the Winchester's collateral damage.

"You really trust them, huh?" she asked.

Jo shrugged, swirling her wine in the bottle. "They've pulled a lot of shit, but they're good guys. I like to think they are, anyway. I could be wrong."

"No, you're not." Kat frowned. She took a moment to push her pride away. "They do pull a lot of shit. I feel like I'm mad at one or both of them about eighty percent of the time. Neither of them know how to communicate for shit, always hiding things cause they think it'll protect someone. It's like they're allergic to honesty. But Sam's just a big nerd who's so desperate to help people that he doesn't think. And Dean—well, there might be some decency in him somewhere. Underneath all his sex-joke, macho bullshit."

"I know what you mean," Jo giggled.

Kat narrowed her eyes. She might have been tipsy, but she was still sharp enough to see the color rising in Jo's cheeks. She was grinning down at her bottle, her fingers toying with the label like a girl stalling at the end of her first date.

"Uh oh," said Kat in a sing-song voice. "Looks like someone's got a case of the feelings."

"I do not," Jo argued feebly. She swatted Kat in retaliation for her disbelieving hum. "Seriously. It's the wine."

"Right, obviously. Definitely not your giant, debilitating crush on Dean."

Jo glared at her playfully. She only made it a few seconds before her resolve broke like a dam.

"Oh come on," she pleaded. "You've been on the road with him. You're telling me you never thought about it once?"

"Absolutely not. Every case I've been on with him, he's slept with a different woman. The only thing I think about Dean Winchester is that it's a miracle he hasn't got the clap."

"What's wrong with sleeping around?" Jo asked defensively. "So he likes having fun and he's smart about it. From what I hear his Yelp reviews are great."

"Oh, gross," Kat winced. "Even if that was true, I still wouldn't care. Dean is just…so not my type."

"Well we're not talking about you."

Jo's smirk was bright—hopeful, naïve. It almost made Kat's heart hurt.

"Jo," she said gently. "You do not want to get into a relationship with a guy like that. He's got way too many issues, and no plans to fix them."

"I'm not looking for a relationship," Jo said quickly. When Kat threw her a disbelieving look, she continued, "I mean—I don't know what I'd want. Mostly, I just don't want him to look at me like I'm a kid."

"He does have a couple years on you…"

"So what?" Her voice rose in anger. "I'm not a kid. I can do the job."

"Hey, I know you can," Kat said firmly. "I saw you take on four demons solo. You literally threw me across the room this morning. You can take care of yourself. But sometimes it's just about life experience. He's been through the wringer. Maybe he just doesn't want to drag you with him."

"Everyone's got baggage," Jo grumbled. "I've been through shit too. Just because I haven't gone to Hell doesn't mean I'm a baby."

Kat bit back a sigh. If nothing else, Jo was as stubborn as every other hunter she'd ever met. More than that, she was young. And it had been a while, but Kat could remember how futile it was trying to talk young blondes out of their crushes on Winchester boys.

"I know it sucks," she said soothingly. "But he's the one missing out, right? You're badass, you're fun—you're cute."

"Shut up," Jo giggled, rolling her eyes.

"I'm serious. You're not afraid to tell people what's on your mind. You're passionate as hell. You know what you want and don't take no for an answer. Clearly you've got great taste in movies. Not so much in guys, but…"

Jo smacked her again, and Kat snorted.

"Doesn't feel that way," Jo sighed. "I mean, I know I'm great. But I still feel like I never know what I'm doing. Even after I moved out and started hunting full time, it didn't feel like I was going anywhere. Just spinning my wheels."

"Cause you were lonely?" Kat suggested.

"I guess. Now I'm home, and I'm not lonely, but I'm not doing anyone any good either."

"I think Barry would disagree. He really likes the way you serve your old fashions."

"I told you to shut up," Jo laughed, elbowing her. "Not all of us have the balance thing down to a science."

Kat gaped at her in disbelief.

"Science? Jo, I'm literally in off-brand witness protection. I can't hunt. I can't work. I can't call my mom. My life is so far removed from balance I'm surprised that I can stand. This is not something you should aspire to."

"I don't know," she said with a shrug. "I think you wear it pretty well. You find a way to keep busy, help out whenever you can. I can't say anything for your taste in movies or men, but you're pretty hot yourself."

"I'm flattered," Kat chuckled. "So we're two hot women who can kick ass and keep our chins up even when the chips are down. Who needs anyone else? Fuck the Winchesters, that's what I say."

She held out her bottle, and Jo clinked her own against it with a grin.

"Here, here." They both drank, until Jo snorted again. "But also, _fuck_ the Winchesters."

"Okay, no. Give me your bottle, I'm taking my toast back."

"Hey!" Jo yelped, scrambling away from Kat as she attempted to steal the wine. "You can't do that!"

"Yeah, I can. I didn't agree to toast to that."

"It was a joke!"

"Sex with the Winchesters is not a joke."

"Oh really?" Jo asked with a smirk. "So you agree?"

Kat stopped. Fuming, she sagged back against the headboard. "You know what? Fuck you, Jo."

Jo laughed, moving back and resting her head on Kat's shoulder. "Yeah, fuck you too."


	33. Chapter 33

It wasn't long before Kat was finally cleared to work again. It was a relief, for the most part. Jo was clearly getting way too much satisfaction out of giving her all the tough tables and asshole customers, but Kat took it in stride. She was just happy to be doing something again—even if that something was exhausting and frustrating and made her want to punch someone in the face.

After a particularly busy afternoon, Jo had decided to use her break to take a shower. That left Kat alone in the bar to clean up after the lunch rush. She wiped down the tables, mopped the floor, dumped empty plates through the kitchen window. The rote cleaning made her feel like she was back at the gym.

Rather than blasting her music through the building, she'd borrowed Jo's Walkman for the day. The condition had been only listening to Jo's music, but it wasn't so bad. She'd made Kat a "Hunter's Essentials" mixtape of classic rock—AC/DC, REO Speedwagon, Kansas. Kat was actually enjoying it. Turned out she didn't mind the music when it wasn't being shoved down her throat by some macho hunter at a volume that made her ears want to bleed.

She was just finishing up her wipe down of the bar when one of the earbuds was plucked from her ears. Kat reacted on instinct. She caught the unknown hand, twisted, and slammed the leather-clad arm down onto the bar.

"Fuck! Jesus Christ, Kat!"

"…Dean?" Kat quickly released him, still shocked as he stumbled back and cradled his arm to his chest. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Trying to get a damn beer," he grimaced. "What's a guy gotta do to get some service around here?"

Kat pursed her lips. She entertained the idea of apologizing, but her heart was still pounding in her chest from the surprise interruption. It was his own damn fault for grabbing a hunter off guard. So instead she grabbed a beer from below the bar. She snapped the cap off on the edge of the counter and slid the bottle to Dean wordlessly.

"Thanks." He toasted to her with a wince. "Looks like you healed up from your light stabbing."

"Ellen cleared me last week," Kat confirmed. "So now it's back to work."

"Well, in that case, can I get a table for two?"

"Uh no. Sorry. We're booked."

Dean chuckled, and looked around at the completely empty dining room. With a smirk, he leaned forward over the counter. Even if she hadn't been working as a bartender for the past few weeks, she would have been able to recognize the charm from a mile off.

"Maybe you could help me with something else then. I'm looking for a friend of mine—tiny blonde, about yay high," he held his hand about as high as Kat's chin, "really hot when she's mad?"

"You know, I think I know her," said Kat, nodding thoughtfully. "Let me see what I can do."

"Great. Thanks, doll."

Kat squinted at him, but decided not to push the subject. She simply tugged off her apron and left the room as quickly as possible.

She was not entirely surprised to find Jo in the hallway, barreling toward her so quickly that they almost collided head on. Jo was just able to skid to a stop, her still-damp hair sticking to the side of her face.

"Is that Dean?"

"Yup. He's asking for you."

"Seriously? Is he?" Jo's eyes cut down to suspicious slits. "He's not, is he?"

"Hey, I'm taking my break," said Kat. She tossed her apron to Jo, along with a wink. "He's all yours, sister."

Jo beamed. Then she stopped, and pretended as though she hadn't just been beaming. She fixed her hair, nodded softly, and walked into the bar with extremely calm, very fake confidence.

Kat kept her laughter to herself. She headed out the back door and around to the front of the Roadhouse. The Winchesters' car was parked by the door, sleek and black in the setting sun. Sam was leaning back on the passenger side, his face in his hands as he rubbed tiredly at his eyes.

"Hey there, stranger."

Sam's head popped up at Kat's voice, and his face split into a smile.

"Kat, hey!" It was only because he looked so worn out that Kat let him sweep her into a hug without complaint. He squeezed her tightly, and was reluctant to let go. "It's good to see you. How've you been?"

"Fine," she said, taking a step back from him. "Good as can be expected under house arrest, I guess."

"Right." Sam frowned. "For what it's worth, I know it must suck."

"Actually, it kind of doesn't," Kat admitted, "which does not mean you're off the hook for dumping me here, but…there's worse places to be. Ellen and Jo are great, and I still get to feel useful. Even if I'm just serving drinks to drunks and keeping customers happy."

"Nothing you can't handle," he chuckled.

"You'd be surprised. This bar is _full_ of guys with egos bigger than their brains. Bunch of big shots like 'Bucky' or 'Asa' with bullshit stories about wendigos. You know how hard it is pretending to be interested when some guy's bragging about the shifter he took down all on his own last month? Like, great. You and every other hunter this side of the Mississippi, dude."

"Woah, hang on," Sam laughed. "You only killed your first shifter a month or two ago. You don't exactly got room to talk."

"Eh, call me spoiled," she said with a smirk. "I guess hunting with you guys really changed my perspective. I've seen some shit now."

"Ha. Yeah, so I hear."

Sam's face turned serious in an instant. Kat could see his eyes flicking over her arms and torso, no doubt looking for the injuries she'd been dumb enough to tell Dean about over the phone. She bit back a sigh, and held her arms out for inspection.

"Alright, let's get this over with."

"Huh?" asked Sam.

"Your lecture, come on. Scold me for being reckless. Tell me how stupid I was to leave the house when my name's on a hit list. That it was dumb to trust an angel, and that's why I got hurt."

To her surprise, Sam laughed again, shaking his head. "Kat, I'm not gonna yell at you."

"No?"

"No way. You saved a seal. I mean, do you realize how insane that is? Dean and I haven't been able to do that. Hell, the angels couldn't even do it without your help. I'm just glad you're okay."

Kat narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm still not sure I'm safe from a lecture."

"Really," he said earnestly. "As far as I'm concerned, you just levelled up to a whole new kind of badass."

"Oh. Well…tell me something I don't know." It was the only thing she could think to say without betraying how much she'd enjoyed the compliment. "What about you? You and Dean been keeping busy?"

"Uh yeah," said Sam, laughing dryly. "You could say that."

"I figured. No offense, but you look kind of beat."

"Ha, try exhausted. I don't think I've had a decent night sleep in a month."

"Why not?"

"Dean," he answered simply. "He's been case crazy. Soon as we finish one job, he's got the next two lined up. It's like I don't have time to breathe."

"Is this because you two talked?"

Sam's eyes snapped to Kat. "He told you about that?"

"Not really," she said, leaning against the car next to him. "Just that he tried talking about Hell, he hated sharing his feelings, and he didn't want to do it again."

"Yeah, sounds like Dean."

He laughed, bitterly staring at the ground. Kat hesitated. She didn't love the idea of getting involved in more Winchester bullshit, but she couldn't deny her curiosity.

"How bad was it?"

"Bad," Sam confirmed. "Like, I don't know how he's even functional bad."

"Well he definitely knows how to bury his trauma. I'll give him that."

"He can't keep doing this." Sam shook his head, and turned pleadingly to Kat. "He drinks as soon as he gets up in the morning. He barely sleeps. He doesn't think when he's hunting anymore. Like 'backup' is another language or something. And he's been like that ever since he came back, but ever since we talked…I don't know. It's worse. It's like he's so worried he'll have to face it that he's running from me even when we're in the same car."

Kat remained silent. She was no stranger to trauma, but she was in no position to lecture about coping or self-care. The only time she'd attempted to ask Dean about Hell it'd ended with a standoff in her living room and Dean telling her to go fuck herself. She knew being reckless and burying yourself in work wasn't a solution, but it wasn't as if she hadn't done the same. She'd only progressed as much as she had through a shitload of therapy—and that wasn't really an option for an outlaw without health insurance.

"Sorry," Sam sighed, wiping his face again. "I know that's a lot to dump on you."

"Hey, it's fine," she assured him. "Tensions are high. I get it."

"Basically I haven't slept and I'm sick of running around. It took everything in me just to convince Dean to stop at the Roadhouse. But we just had a tough case, so I put my foot down."

"Demons?" she asked, and Sam laughed.

"Humans."

"Yikes. Well, come on in. Ellen's out on a supply run, so Jo and I are holding down the fort."

Sam locked up the car and they headed inside. Kat bowed him in first, then promptly collided into his back when he refused to movie more than a few steps through the door. She smacked him out of the way, but hung back as well. The way Jo and Dean were talking at the bar—both leaning half over the bar with playful smiles—she didn't want to interrupt either.

But it was too late. They'd already been sighted.

Dean coughed, and casually leaned back in his seat. Jo, however, made no move to hide her position. She stayed half on top of the counter, only turning to purse her lips at Kat in annoyance. Kat held up her hands and joined her behind the bar without comment.

"Hey, Sam," Jo greeted with a smile. "Long time no see."

"It's really good to see you, Jo," said Sam. "Your mom says you've been hunting. How's that been?"

"Nothing I can't handle," she said defiantly.

"Oh no, that's—that's not what I…"

"We know you can take care of yourself," Dean said, winking at her as he took another sip from his beer.

Jo ruffled herself importantly, and Kat wrapped an arm around her shoulders with a smirk.

"Oh, she can handle herself alright. I've seen Jo take out a demon with nothing but an empty shotgun and a swift kick to the nuts."

"She's exaggerating," Jo said, her cheeks turning pink.

"I am not. That's a real thing that actually happened. That's how we saved the seal."

"That reminds me," said Dean, jerking his thumb behind him. "What the hell is that?"

"Oh uh…" Kat winced at the support beam in the middle of the room. Several chunks had been taken out of the week, and there was still a switchblade hanging loose in the grain. "Throwing knives. I'm working on it."

"No, not that. That."

He pointed to the other side of the room, where the pool table was set up. Amidst the wide expanse of green felt, a white and orange mass of fur was piled in the middle of the table. It was vibrating slightly with every tiny breath.

"That's Oliver," Jo said simply. "We saved him."

"You took one of the cats?" Sam laughed, craning his neck so he could see the kitten more clearly.

"Why not? Better than getting sacrificed. Plus, he kills spiders."

"You cannot play with the kitten," Dean said to Sam before he could even move.

"What? Why not?"

"Because we're not staying."

"Dean," Sam groaned, but Dean wasn't having it.

"Sorry, Sammy. Monsters never sleep. Most of 'em anyway." He turned to Jo, nodding behind the counter. "You guys got a newspaper back there?"

"Uh, yeah, I think…"

"No."

Kat grabbed Jo's wrist, ignoring her noise of confusion. Dean narrowed his eyes at her.

"Excuse me?"

"No newspaper," she said evenly. "You just got off a job."

"Yeah, well it's not exactly a nine-to-five," he scoffed. "Give me the paper, Kat."

"No, Dean. Sam told me you guys have been running on fumes. I don't need it on my conscience when you two idiots screw up and kick it because you haven't slept in five days. And I'm not looking to pick up your slack on Team Apocalypse. You're on twenty-four hour stand-by. No cases."

Dean turned to glare at Sam, who quickly held up his hands and took a step back. When he turned the glare to Jo, she did the same and moved out of Kat's way. Neither of them were dumb enough to step into the middle of an argument like this.

His eyes landed back on Kat, who didn't so much as blink. She stared at him flatly, daring him to challenge her. And Dean never backed down from a challenge.

"Fine," he said, getting out of his seat. "I'll get my own damn paper. Thanks for the beer, Tinkerbell. Let's go, Sam."

He turned on his heel and was halfway out the door before Kat called out, "In what car?"

"In my car! What the hell is that supposed to…?"

Dean looked back, only to find that Kat had come out from behind the bar. She was leaning back on it at ease. To Dean's horror, the Impala's keys were dangling from her fingers.

He checked his pockets instinctively, then he whirled around to glare accusingly at Sam. But Sam was also checking his pockets. He looked just as surprised as Dean, and he wasn't that good of an actor.

Kat was still smirking as Dean turned back to her. He took an aggressive step forward, which she countered with a step back. He moved again. She danced out of his reach. With a growl, he rushed forward, only for Kat to drop the keys directly down the front of her shirt. Dean stopped dead, staring at her chest.

"Don't think I won't go in there," he warned.

She had the audacity to laugh.

"I'd like to see you try. Get comfy. Have a beer. You two can sleep in my room, and I'll bunk with Jo."

With a final nod, Kat walked away and disappeared down the hallway. She knew there was no way for him to argue—not if he wanted to keep his junk in working order.

Dean huffed, turning back toward the bar. Jo and Sam were both watching him carefully, still transfixed by the altercation.

"What the hell are you looking at?" he barked.

Jo snorted, and quickly followed Kat out of the room. Dean collapsed into his seat again and drained the remaining beer from his bottle. Then he reached over the counter and grabbed himself another one.

"Dean, maybe this is for the best," Sam said, but Dean cut him off.

"Oh, you do not want to talk to me right now. Traitor."

Sam scoffed, but didn't push his luck. His footsteps receded across the bar, where Dean could hear him playing with the kitten on the billiards table. Fucking nerd.

Somebody must have called Ellen in advance, because when she got back to the Roadhouse she was carrying several boxes of pizza. She'd opted to close the bar for the night so they could have the place to themselves. Sam had bellyached about her losing business, but Ellen waved him off.

"You boys coming round here without something chasing your asses? I know a miracle when I see one. And you can't waste a thing like that these days."

No one seemed to care that Dean wasn't the least bit interested in staying. It was like they'd all had a damn conference while he wasn't looking, and decided that no matter what he said or what he did, they were just going to straight up ignore him. Dean didn't chime in to any conversation. He only hummed or nodded when asked a direct question. And no one batted an eye. Not even Jo, who he'd been banking on to take his side. She still stared at him over dinner, smiled and winked when she caught his eye, but it was all merciless. She was clearly enjoying his misery. Granted, Jo had always been sassy and uncooperative, but Dean was starting to think someone had been a bad influence on her.

As soon as Kat got up for seconds, Dean followed her to the bar.

"I guess you're having fun, then?" he asked sourly.

"Yeah. Who doesn't love pizza?" She dramatically deliberated over which pepperoni slice she wanted to take, refusing to look at him. "I am getting a kick out of your temper tantrum if that's what you're talking about."

"My tempter tan…? Hey, maybe you don't get it, but people are dying out there. Every second. And we're in here gorging on pizza."

"Right. God forbid you eat between cases."

Dean stared at her flatly. "I'm being serious, Kat."

"So am." She finally looked up at him, without a flicker of laughter. "Not to sound like Bobby, but someone's always dying, Dean. If you don't take care of yourself, if could be you next."

"Wow. Thank you for the vote of confidence."

"When was the last time you slept?"

"Last night."

"And when was the last time you slept for more than two hours?"

He did not respond.

"That's what I thought," said Kat plainly. "Look, believe it or not, I'm not trying to be a bitch. I'm just being realistic. If you and Sam keep pushing yourselves to the limit, eventually someone's going to slip up and get killed. And it might not be you."

Dean's jaw clenched, but he pushed the thought aside. "I'm not gonna let that happen."

"Great. Let's say you did have control over that. What do you think it's gonna do to Sam if you get killed on the job? _Again?"_

"Doubt it will stick," he said with a shrug. "God's got a job for me, right? I kick the bucket, angels will just have to pick me up again. Simple as that."

Kat did not seem to agree with him. She glanced over at the table, making sure Sam, Jo and Ellen were deep in conversation before she continued. She took a step closer to him and lowered her voice.

"Dean, do you know what happens when you die?"

"Uh yeah," he laughed. "Better than most."

"No. I mean do you know what happens when you die this time? Because I don't. Neither does Sam, and I'm guessing neither do the angels."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you sold your soul." She peered up at him earnestly, and Dean almost flinched under her gaze. "You sold your soul and nixed on the deal. That's never happened before. Maybe your contract was over the day you got down there, but maybe…maybe it wasn't."

"So what, I'm not a clean slate?" Dean asked. "I kick it and go right back to Hell?"

"I don't know. Just something to think about."

She turned away from him. Dean wondered if he should tell her that he had thought about it—over and over again. Of course he had. It was hard to think about anything else when he was up late at night, trying not to close his eyes. Most of the time, he told himself it was impossible. Sure, he'd squelched on an eternity in Hell, but he'd still gone. And people didn't just waltz into Hell when they died. Their souls had to be collected. If he got gutted by some backroad ghoul there wouldn't be any time for a Hellhound to get to him. He'd been saved, and now he never had to go back.

That's what he usually thought. The other times he remembered that being thrown back into the Pit was all he really deserved.

"Hold on a sec, is that what this is?" Dean whispered. He checked the table over his shoulder like Kat had, and took a step even closer to her. "Are you actually _worried_ about me?"

It was worth it to watch her jaw drop.

"Please," she scoffed. "Sam's worried. I'm just annoyed."

"I don't know, Kit Kat. You seemed kind of concerned there."

"Oh what, cause I warned you that you might land yourself back in Hell?" She was spluttering, flustered or furious. "God, you're such an asshole. Why don't you practice distinguishing flirting from basic human decency?"

"Come on, admit that you care a little bit," he said, leaning in with a smirk. "In fact, I bet that's the real reason you're trying to keep me here. Somewhere, deep down, you kinda missed me."

He flicked a finger across her collarbone, and Kat froze. Dean braced himself for the swing, fully expecting her to clock him. It was almost unsettling when she just stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. Her eyes flicked down to his lips, and he couldn't help but do the same. She was chewing on her bottom lip, deliberately, infuriatingly. And then she smirked.

"You can drop the act, Dean. The keys aren't in my bra."

His expression dropped in an instant.

"Then where the fuck did you put them?"

"Somewhere you're not gonna look, obviously." She returned to the pizza box, finally selecting one of the larger slices. "Otherwise what would be the point in hiding them?"

"For fuck's sake, Kat. Just give me the damn keys."

"No. You can run yourself ragged, but I'm not letting you drag Sam into it. He's exhausted and bitchy, and I don't want to deal with it. Honestly, I'm doing you a favor."

"Fine. We'll stay the night, whatever," he huffed. "Now where are my keys?"

She took an oversized bite of her slice instead of answering him. He waited impatiently until she finally looked back at him. Somehow she still managed to look incredulous with her cheeks stuffed like a fucking chipmunk.

"How stupid do you think I am?" she asked after a gulp. "You're just gonna drive off the moment I hand them over."

"I promise I won't jet. See? I promise."

Predictably, that didn't have a huge effect on her.

"Okay, _please_?" he asked wearily. "I just like having them on me. It's a security thing."

"A security thing?"

"Yeah. I feel naked without them."

Dean held his breath. She actually seemed to think about it for a moment, and then finally—finally—she let out a heavy sigh. "Well then. That's a feeling you should be used to, right, Casanova?"

Kat winked and proudly walked back to the table. She could just hear Dean curse her out under his breath before he stormed out the front door of the bar. Sam, Jo and Ellen all looked up in surprise, but Kat waved off their silent questions. She savored another bite of her pizza, wondering how long it would take Dean to remember that he couldn't storm off to his fancy, classic car. It was locked, and he didn't have the keys.


	34. Chapter 34

**TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains references to suicide, sexual assault, child abuse, and torture (as seen in Supernatural 04.11 "Family Remains.") Please proceed with caution.**

* * *

Four in the morning had come and gone without warning. Dean was still sitting at the Roadhouse bar, staring scathingly at the bottom of his glass. He'd lost count of how many times he'd refilled it. Close to killing a bottle, for sure. He'd have to remember to slip a couple bucks into the cash box for Ellen.

There had been some fleeting hope when they first pulled up to the Roadhouse that things would be better here. Maybe in a real bed with some real food and some real friends, he might be able to sleep for more than forty-five minutes. It'd been a load of horseshit. The nightmares followed him everywhere else he went—the screams, the blood, the cold. The Roadhouse was safe, but it wasn't built to fight off those kinds of demons.

His fight with Kat hadn't helped much. It had gotten him thinking about Hell again, how likely it was that he'd be going back. He'd stormed out of the bar to get some space, only to remember that he couldn't get into the Impala because the bitch had taken his keys. That meant he couldn't get to his booze, he couldn't get to his music—hell, he couldn't even change his clothes. It was infuriating.

He'd taken his anger out on a couple trees by kicking them. When he was on the verge of breaking his toes Viggo Mortensen style, he collapsed onto Baby's hood and glared up at the sky. It had no right being so colorful when he was so pissed off. It almost made it easier to breathe.

No one came out to check on him. He tried his best not to feel affronted. He didn't want anyone pestering him anyway. The last thing he wanted to do was talk things out. He'd tried that, and look where that had gotten him.

Sam could hardly look at him these days without some kind of pity. He didn't know what to say, and there was nothing he could do to change it. That was exactly why Dean hadn't wanted to talk about it in the first place. But Sam had pushed and pushed, and then Alastair had run his mouth inside of the barn. Well, his brother was an idiot, but he wasn't stupid. It was only a matter of time before Sam put two and two together, and Dean had figured it'd be better to rip it off like a band aid.

Yeah, some fucking genius he was.

When he'd first crawled out of his grave, getting by had been hard. The nightmares sucked, and he still held his breath before opening his eyes every morning. But during the day he could bury it. He could throw himself into every case, every song, every burger, every girl—anything it took to ignore the wound in the back of his mind. That was impossible now that Sam knew the truth. Every waking moment with Sam was just slathered in this disgusting, heavy tension. His thoughts were just so fucking loud. How bad is Dean today? Am I being insensitive about Hell? Am I pushing too hard? Am I not pushing enough to show that I care? How much longer can Dean go on without cracking like a goddamn egg?

With that kind of soundtrack, Dean had to work a lot harder to swallow his thoughts. So yeah, he'd been hitting the papers a little harder than usual looking for work. Working was the only peace he could get, and the exhaustion from a hunt was the only time he could sleep. Then Sam would give him that bracing look, and he had to start all fucking over again. He hated it.

Dean pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Hard enough that it hurt. Hard enough that the black insides of his eyelids began to burst with color. Like flames, he thought bitterly. Everything he did just looped back and made it worse.

"Thought I might find you down here."

Dean looked up. Kat was peeking out from around the corner of the hallway. She waited until he'd seen her to enter the room, but respectfully kept her distance.

"And dressed for the occasion," Dean quipped, looking over her pajamas. "Nice boyshorts."

She flipped him off, and he managed to smile.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Hey, it's your joint now."

Kat grabbed a glass from the counter, then plopped onto a stool two down from him. He slid the bottle of whiskey her way and she poured them each another portion.

"What's got you up?" he asked after they'd toasted.

"Take a wild guess."

"You lost the naked pillow fight and Jo kicked you out of bed?"

She gasped, laying a gentle hand over her chest. "Oh my God, you too?"

"That's—That's not funny," he said, shaking his head.

"Yes it was," she snickered. "That was pretty funny."

They lapsed into silence. Dean was still trying to decide if it was a comfortable one. He was sure she had questions after being locked up in Nebraska for almost a month. She definitely still had some bitching left to do. But Kat didn't look like she was waiting for anything, or shooting him side glances like Sam always did. Maybe he was the one making it uncomfortable by waiting for her to say something uncomfortable.

Damning himself for overthinking, he drained his glass again.

"Just the normal stuff?" he asked.

She didn't need clarification to know that he was referring to her nightmares.

"Yeah, pretty much. Ellen and Jo pop up from time to time now. Which I guess is nice. Having new friends, but…"

"Yeah, I know."

"What about you? Normal stuff?"

Dean clenched his jaw and nodded. He couldn't fault her for asking though. He'd been the one that started it. He braced himself. But thankfully, Kat didn't push.

"What happened on your case?" she asked instead. "Sam said it was a tough one."

"Yeah," Dean sighed. That question wasn't really any better. "Guy was killed inside a locked room. They ended up selling the place before Sam and I could get there. Family moving to the country for a fresh start, bunch of rando crap started happening. Your basic horror movie stuff. Figured it was ghosts, but uh…turned out it was just kids that never died."

"They were living there?"

"Living's one word for it. Not the word I'd use."

Kat frowned in confusion. He cleared his throat, glaring a hole into the tabletop. The whole thing still set him off.

"The guy that used to own the house had a daughter, and he…well he got her pregnant. Daughter hung herself and Dad kept the kids locked up in the crawl space. Eating rats, moving through the walls. It was…bad."

He nodded stiffly and ended it there. Kat had stopped moving next to him, and he didn't care to look at the expression on her face. Life as a hunter was bad, but humans were worse than anything else.

"They killed him?" she asked after several minutes of silence. Dean only nodded. "Good."

There was a heavy clink as she dropped her empty glass on the table. Dean chanced a glance over at her. She had the same far off look in her eye, her jaw tight, her knuckles white from the grip on her glass. He knew that look pretty well. Some things were just so horrible that they ate you inside and out.

"I couldn't save them." Kat looked over at him, and he instinctively looked away again. "I mean, I know they were killers. They looked half-dead, couldn't go out in the sun. Savage. But you can't fault them for that. They never knew anything else. Hell, I'm glad their old man died bloody. Then some family of strangers moves in…"

"Sounds like they were just defending their territory," said Kat.

"It was more than that. I mean, they didn't just wipe them out—and trust me, they could have. At first, they just told the people to get out. Said the youngest son could stay, but the adults had to go."

"You talked to them?"

"Nah, not me," he said, shaking his head. "They talked to the kid. Or wrote, or something. But they didn't kill him, you know? They were just trying to talk, take care of him the only way they knew how. Took him to the crawl space, tried to feed him mice."

"Oh my God," Kat gasped.

"Hey, if that's what you know," Dean defended. "If you grew up your whole life inside the walls and the one adult you knew was keeping you there, wouldn't you freak out the next time you saw a grown up?"

"I know, just…wow. Did you get the kid back?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we got him back," he sighed. "Didn't stop the girl from killing his uncle. Or his dog. Didn't stop us from killing them either."

It was quiet as he poured himself another drink. The flames in the back of his mind disappeared, only to be replaced by the shadowy silhouette of Rebecca Gibson's daughter—her hair wild, her face terrified. She'd been a kid. A tortured, tormented kid, cornered and fighting for her life. And he'd killed her. Another sin added to his long sold soul.

"She was smart too," he said into the silence. "God knows how she learned how to talk and write. She even knew how to take out the cars when we were trying to escape. Diet of rats and she was still strong enough to fight off a hunter. I mean shit. She was just trying to survive."

"So were you."

He laughed humorlessly, taking another sip from his drink. "Yeah, well that don't make it right."

"I'm not saying it's right," Kat said softly. "I'm saying you tried your best. But you can't save everybody."

He didn't have the words to tell her that he had to.

It had been one of the only reasons Dean had come around to Castiel's proposal about the Apocalypse. When he'd first gotten topside, his only question had been why? Why should God single him out to fix all the shit that was going down in the world? He wasn't good. He wasn't prepared. He wasn't special. He was a backroads hunter who knew how to use a shotgun better than most.

But then he'd thought about everything he'd done in Hell. Cas had as good as told him everyone in Heaven had been watching. Everyone up there knew. And that was as good a reason as any. God's whole shtick was supposed to be redemption, right? Balance. So to make up for every soul he'd tortured in Hell, he'd just have to save every soul on the planet. He wasn't sure he could stay sane otherwise.

Dean swirled the whiskey around the bottom of his glass.

"You ever feel like you've got a hole in your chest? Like there's just—just something missing?"

He didn't know why he was asking. He didn't know what kind of answer he expected, let alone what he wanted to hear. The moment he spoke, he was half hoping she would just shut him down. But when Kat answered him it was plain. No judgement. No laughter.

"Yeah. Better than most."

"I'm not talking about loss," he clarified. "We've all lost someone. I mean like—like a real hole. And you don't know if something took it out of you, or if maybe it was never there in the first place. You just know there's like…a void. Eating at everything you've got left."

"Yeah. I know."

Dean nodded. "How'd you get rid of it?"

"I didn't," she said with a shrug. "It's still there. It doesn't go away. Best thing to do is just feed it, find something to fill in the edges a little bit at a time."

"Like what?"

"Work helps me a lot. Not just the distraction, but knowing I'm doing something to help, to protect people from getting holes like mine. Or finding other people with the same hole and letting them know they're not alone."

"Right." Dean sneered at his drink. "Well, I doubt anyone's got a hole like mine, so…that's off the table."

He felt it coming this time. The way Kat was staring at him from the side, the way her fingers drummed on the bar. She let out a huge warning sigh, giving him time to brace himself.

"Look, I don't wanna overstep anyone's boundaries, and I know you don't want to hear this but…I'm pretty sure that I get it."

"No you don't," he snapped. "You don't know me, and you don't understand my problems. So just don't."

Kat rolled her eyes at him, undeterred.

"That's not what I said. I didn't say I could relate. I just mean I'm smart enough to put the pieces together."

Dean's blood ran cold. His eyes shot to her, but her face was still blank. Still no judgment. Still no laughter.

"I heard what Alastair said at the barn," she said quietly. "You know, before he blew me threw a wall. Your nightmares, this giant savior complex you've built up for yourself. I know what guilt looks like. What it feels like. You've done things you can't change, and you want to make up for it. And that much I get."

"You don't…"

"Let me fucking finish. I'm not trying to tell you how to deal with it. God knows I can't imagine what you went through in Hell, and I'm not asking you to tell me. What I do know is that this mass hunting spree of yours is your way of trying to cope. You wanna help people. I get it. But you cannot save everyone. Not even God can save everyone. But he did choose to save you. And that must mean you're worth something."

"As a soldier," he said darkly. "That's what he wants me for, to help, to save people. Which is exactly what you said you do, by the way. So maybe you wanna get off your high horse and let me do exactly what God intended me to do—save your sorry ass."

He was lashing out. He knew it, but didn't care enough to stop. He just wanted the conversation to be over. He just wanted people to stop telling him what to do and how to feel. And if that meant pushing people away until they were tired of him, 'til they yelled and screamed and abandoned him in frustration, that's what he'd have to do.

But Kat didn't yell. She hardly blinked as he railed at her.

"Dean," she said firmly. "You're not gonna be able to save anybody with that death wish on your shoulders."

He gritted his teeth and looked back at the bar. She certainly had him there.

They sat like that for a while, Dean staring longingly at the bottles behind the counter, acutely aware of the way Kat was watching him. If she was waiting on him, she was gonna be disappointed. He didn't plan on saying anything else for the rest of the night, to anyone. He'd already said way too much.

Eventually she sighed, sliding him her glass and drumming her hands on the table.

"Well, I'm sure I've cemented my place at the top of your shit list. So I guess I'll leave you to it. Try not to drink us dry. I'm sure lunch is gonna suck tomorrow since we were closed all night."

Dean nodded. He heard her get up from her seat, making it almost all the way to the hallway before she stopped. It was hard to hide his bitter smirk. He knew she wasn't going to let him off that easy.

"I know you've got a lot of people on your back about this. But if it helps…we're all sticking around. You talked to Sam and he didn't run for the hills, so that's something. And I'm pretty stubborn myself, so. Whatever you did down there…people still care about you, Dean. Try and keep that in mind next time you go rushing off into the crosshairs because you think dying's the only good you can do."

He didn't answer her. Kat wasn't sure if she was expecting him to, or if she even wanted him to. But it did make her feel incredibly stupid. Here she was running her mouth to Dean Winchester—someone who not only had a history of hating communication, but someone who also had a history of hating her. What the fuck was she hoping to accomplish by preaching to him?

Feeling drained and more idiotic than she had before, she hurried up the stairs and back to Jo's room. She'd been hoping she could pass out and avoid any more conversation, but wasn't surprised to find Jo lying awake waiting for her.

"So?" she asked expectantly. "How'd it go?"

"Yeah, apology did not go as planned."

"Kat…"

"Oh, how do you think it went?" Kat demanded. She collapsed onto the mattress with a jolt, and Jo grunted in protest. "He's still down there sulking. He's probably even more pissed than he was before."

"So your usual magic touch." Kat swung an arm out and caught her in the stomach. "Ow, fuck! It was a joke!"

"It was a bad one."

"Hey, you said it yourself," said Jo, rolling onto her side. "He was pissy before you got down there. He's been pissy ever since he and Sam rolled up. He just doesn't want to be here."

"I know," Kat sighed, glaring up at the ceiling. "He's just a bitch."

Jo snorted, but quickly fell silent.

"It's weird. I didn't think he hated it here so much."

"He doesn't hate it here," Kat assured her. "It's just hard for him to sit still. He's got a lot on his mind."

"Because of their case?"

Kat hummed and looked back to the ceiling. She wasn't going to get into the intricacies of Dean's time in Hell with Jo. That wasn't any of her business.

"Was it really that bad?" she asked, propping herself up on one elbow. "Did he say what happened?"

"Yeah. I'll tell you tomorrow, when you're not about to go to sleep."

"What, you're afraid I'll have nightmares?"

"I'm gonna," Kat said earnestly.

Jo squinted at her. "Wimp."

"Please. Isn't it past your bedtime?"

"Whatever." Jo scoffed, flopping onto her back and rolling away. She ended up taking most of the comforter with her. "Try and steal my blankets and I'm physically kicking you out of the bed."

Kat laughed quietly, listening to Jo get comfortable beside her. It took a few minutes, but slowly, her breathing began to even out. It wasn't long until Kat was sure she was asleep.

But Kat just kept looking at the ceiling. The blankets wouldn't be a problem. She doubted she was going to get any sleep.

There was a funny feeling in her gut. It was an anxious wobble, as if her stomach was filled with viscous liquid. The kind of feeling you'd get after watching a horror movie or a psychological thriller. The shock of remembering what horrible things happened in real life. The reality check that came when you remembered they could very well happen to you.

The details of the Winchester's last case rolled around her head. Fathers who raped their daughters. Men who trapped children like animals. Children who grew up knowing nothing but pain and fear and darkness. None of that was supernatural. That was just humans, living in the world they'd been given. How crazy was it wanting to wipe everything out and start over again? Some days, she wondered if the demons weren't right to start the Apocalypse. It made her skin crawl, thinking about the things people did to one another.

Briefly, her mind flicked to Dean. Kat struck the thought down instantly. In no way was that the same thing. Dean had been tortured for God knows how long, in ways she could never imagine. That was the whole point of Hell—to strip the humanity from you until there was nothing left but darkness. And maybe Dean had started down that path. But the angels had gotten him out. He was still human. The guilt proved that. If anything, Dean's time in Hell would probably make him think twice about ever hurting anything ever again. Sam was right. It was a wonder he could even function.

Kat wiped her hands down her face, and forced her head farther down into her pillow. There was no way she'd be getting any kind of sleep tonight.

She settled for watching the colors change on the ceiling of the room. Black turned to grey, with the odd flash of orange if an early morning traveler passed down the backroad. The house creaked around her. Kat wondered if Dean was going to go to bed or just sit in the bar all night. Grey turned to pale blue, for the briefest moment green, then a stretch of yellow as the sun reflected off the lawn outside. That was when she decided it was probably safe to get up.

Carefully, she crept out of bed to the bathroom. She figured she could shower and start on breakfast before anyone else got up.

It was easy enough to lie to Ellen. The woman hardly batted an eye joining her in the kitchen. Lying to Sam was even easier. He was just so happy to wake up someplace besides his car. He waved to Kat and Ellen, then hurried back to the pool table where Oliver was playing with the cue ball. Jo joined him when she came downstairs—shooting Kat a side look that said she knew full well she hadn't gone back to sleep. When the stairs creaked again, Kat simply kept her head down. She didn't want to look at Dean.

They ate breakfast together at the bar. Ellen served everyone bacon and eggs, and Jo kicked the jukebox on in the corner. She roped Dean into listening to her talk all about their grand adventure in Belle Fourche, while Sam and Ellen were talking about his last case in low, hushed voices. Kat was happy to keep to herself. It was nice. Less awkward than dinner had been, anyway. At least Dean was talking now, cracking jokes that had Jo giggling and Ellen giving him the side eye. Kat couldn't remember the last time she felt so comfortable around this many people.

She pouted, tearing a bite out of her toast. Comfortable around the Winchesters. Who would have thought?

"I wish you boys'd stay," Ellen said as they were wrapping things up. "If it's busy work you're looking for, I've got plenty of shit to do around here."

"Thanks, Ellen," said Sam. "Really…"

"…but we can't," finished Dean. "I got a call from Bobby this morning."

Sam did not bother hiding his disappointment. "Seriously, Dean?"

"Relax. He's got a part I need for the car. Figured it's been a while since she's had a real tune up so…we're headed over there for a day or two."

"Oh." Sam blinked in surprised. His eyes flicked curiously from Ellen to Jo to Kat, but no one had an answer for him. "Alright, well uh…I'll get our stuff."

"What stuff?" Dean snorted. "Warden Norton over here wouldn't let us take anything from the car."

His voice wasn't particularly venomous, but it was just enough to make everyone in the room uneasy. Kat carefully kept looking at her plate, ignoring the way that Sam, Ellen and Jo were all watching her.

"I'll walk you out," Ellen said, patting Sam on the shoulder. "Think I got some spare grub in the kitchen y'all can take with you. Jo, you wanna give me a hand?"

Jo didn't move at first. She waited until she'd caught Kat's eye, and Kat had given her the nod to go ahead. If Dean still had shit to say, it was probably better for him to air it out than sit and stew for a few more hours. There didn't need to be any collateral damage from that.

Kat waited until everyone was out of earshot before she pushed herself to her feet.

"Alright. I guess I'll go get your keys."

"Not necessary."

"Not…? What do you…?"

She turned back, and was shocked to find Dean smirking at his plate. He looked up at her with pride, stuck his hand into his jacket pocket, and fished out his car keys for her to see.

"You did a pretty good job. I'll give you that."

"Come on," Kat groaned, deflating. "What were you doing under the bathroom sink?"

"Well, I had a lot of time to look. Didn't get a lot of sleep."

"Did you get any sleep?" she asked doubtfully.

"Yeah," Dean chuckled. "The scavenger hunt helped a bit."

"Alright, well…good."

She wrapped her arms around her waist. The she moved them to her back. In all honesty, she had no idea what to do with herself. She'd been prepped to come at Dean swinging, ready to defend herself. But Dean wasn't biting. He was hardly even looking at her.

He toyed with his fork for a moment, and then got to his feet. Kat noticed that he rocked back and forth bit, a reflection of her awkward stance.

"It also gave me time to think," said Dean. He was looking around the room, anywhere but her. "About what you said, and uh…well you weren't wrong. So, if it'll get everyone off my back then…I guess I can cool it with the cases for a while. Take a breather or whatever."

Kat realized it was very difficult to speak when all her mouth wanted to do was drop open in shock. That, or laugh hysterically.

"Well," she said carefully. "I'm sure Sam will be very happy to hear that."

"Sam? I was talking about you."

He was grinning again—that smile that made Kat uncomfortably aware he was planning on doing or saying something that would upset her.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"Well, you were the one lecturing me last night," he said with a shrug. "Talking about how I can't go getting myself killed because you care about me."

"Woah, woah, woah!" Kat held up her hands, and jabbed a finger at his chest. "No. No, that is not what I said."

"Kinda is," Dean countered. "You said you're stubborn and you're not going anywhere, right?"

"I _can't_ go anywhere, even if I wanted to! I'm under house arrest because of you morons!"

"Hey, not my fault you ended up being an angel whisperer."

"It is your fault the demons know I am."

Dean thought about it, then cocked his head in ascent.

"Alright, my bad. Point is, uh...thanks."

"Sure. Uh, you got it." She hesitated, not wanting to be rude but still wondering. "Are we done?"

"Yeah, definitely," Dean said in relief.

"Good. I mean, cool. No offense, it's just..."

"No, yeah. I know." He grabbed their abandoned plates, following her back toward the kitchen. "Before I forget, I really was a big fan of the 'nice try' note in your underwear drawer."

"You're such a pervert."

"I'm being genuine. You know, you've got some really nice stuff in there."

He cackled when she doubled back to smack him.

Everyone was already waiting out front around the car. Dean jangled his keys happily, making a big show out of unlocking the door and caressing the front seat. Kat rolled her eyes and planted herself next to Jo.

"Wow," Jo said, impressed. "You didn't kill him."

"There's still time," Kat answered through a fixed smile.

Sam came over to say goodbye while his brother was making eyes at the car.

"Don't be a stranger," Ellen ordered. She hugged him, and slapped him on the back with maybe a little too much force. "I'm serious. It better not take a murder spree for you to drag your asses back here next time. You hear me?"

"Loud and clear," said Sam with a grimace. "Jo—good to see you."

"Yeah, you too," she replied. He completely dwarfed her in their hug, but she gave him the same overzealous pat on the back. "Be careful out there."

Sam was wincing still when he turned to Kat, and she did her best not to laugh. He subtly nodded away, and Kat followed him a little farther off.

"What the hell did you say to him?" he asked, almost in awe.

"Nothing," she said. "I told him that working you to the bone was just as likely to get you killed as him, and that he should think twice about the kind of risks he was taking. I may not like you guys, but I don't need you dying on me."

"Kat."

He was staring at her in disbelief, but she kept her response to a shrug. Her conversation with Dean had been weird and taxing enough the first time. She wasn't about to go through it again for Sam.

"Well, whatever you said, thank you." He pulled her in for a hug, ignoring her feeble scoff of protest. "It'll be nice to get some sleep for a change."

"Don't thank me yet. Your brother's an asshole, so he probably won't listen to me."

"I don't know. Looks like he's already trying to get back to normal."

Sam nudged her around, and Kat had to stifle a snort. Dean had pulled Jo into a hug, which had clearly been going on for longer than Ellen would have liked. Kat could feel her glare from where she was standing, and Dean quickly ripped his arms off Jo's back. He waved nervously, and hurried over to Sam and Kat.

"She still scares the crap out of me," he said, shaking his head.

"Good," said Kat. "She should."

"All the more reason to hit the road. You ready to go, Sammy?"

"Yeah," he sighed, turning back to Kat. "Call us if you need anything. And be careful."

"Sam, it's a bar. I think I'll be okay."

"Only if you actually stay at the bar. The next time the angels try and give you a divine mission, just call, okay? At least so we know where you are."

"You got it, Dad."

"Yeah, Dad," Dean scoffed. Sam rolled his eyes at the pair of them, but Dean just smirked. "Well, Kit Kat, it's been real. Take care of yourself."

"Yeah, you too."

He clapped her haltingly on the shoulder, which was fine by her. She still wasn't sure what to do with herself either. Maybe that's why she was so surprised when Dean's hand pulled her forward, and suddenly she was standing against his chest.

It was short, but not as awkward as she would've imagined. He held her gently, one arm slung across her lower back. She was hyperaware of the touch. Kat was glad her head was tucked into his shoulder. It gave her a chance to hide the shock on her face. She was just bringing her arms up around his back when Dean released her.

It was hard to tell who was more stunned when they pulled back. Kat, who still wasn't sure what had happened, Dean, who still seemed to be questioning what made him do it, or Sam, who looked like he'd just witnessed something akin to a murder. His shock was the first to fade, his face breaking into a bewildered grin. He probably would have started laughing if Dean hadn't quickly cleared his throat.

"Alright. Let's roll, Sammy."

Dean scurried back to the car, and Sam trailed after him in daze. Hiding a smile, Kat wandered back over to Ellen and Jo. They were both waiting with raised eyebrows.

"What was that?" Jo asked, full of amusement.

"I don't know."

Kat turned to watch as the black car peeled off of the lawn. She could still hear the bass of the stereo all the way to the road.

"Just your usual Winchester weirdness."


	35. Chapter 35

**TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains descriptions of gore and nonconsensual contact. Please proceed with caution.**

* * *

The table was quiet. Everyone around was holding their breath, eyes flicking back and forth between either end. It was going to be close.

Kat peeked at her cards and winced. She quickly swept the emotion blank, but the man across from her chuckled.

"No offense, sweetheart, but you've got one of the worst poker faces I've ever seen on a hunter."

"What do you want from me, Lou? I'm an honest businesswoman, not a con. Shut the fuck up and play."

There were a few snickers here and there, though most of the men were smart enough to keep their opinions to themselves. Kat might have only been at the Roadhouse for a few weeks, but it was long enough to earn herself a reputation. She had dropped people for less.

Lou considered her for a moment before shedding a few more bills into the pot.

"I'll raise fifty. I don't love easy pickin', but an old man like me can't afford to turn down some cash. Hope you understand, sweets."

"I understand that if you call me 'sweets' one more time you're gonna lose your balls." She wiped a hand down her face, glaring at her cards. "Alright. I will…hmph…"

"Move it, guys. Coming through."

Jo weaved her way through the spectators, one glass of beer in each hand. She placed one down next to Lou, then circled round to slam Kat's down with a glare.

"About time," Kat grumbled.

"Oh, so sorry. It's lunch time and some of us actually have to work."

"It's my break and I'll do what I want with it."

"Right, blowing all your cash like an idiot."

"Better than whatever you're blowing."

Every single jaw around the table dropped and the men all dissolved into raucous laughter. Jo glared even more furiously, kicking the leg of Kat's chair. Under the cover of the jeers, she knocked three times on the back, and stormed off.

Kat expertly hid her smirk.

"Alright, everyone shut up," she ordered, pulling out her own cash. "I'll meet and raise you fifty more."

"Come on, Kat," Lou groaned. "Don't be an idiot."

"I'm not an idiot. I've got good cards and you should quit while you're ahead."

"Sure. I believe that about as much as I believe you can rehabilitate a rawhead."

"I don't know what that means. You folding or not?"

Lou frowned, and threw a few more bills into the pile. "Fine, your funeral. But I'm calling. I ain't taking any more money from you than that."

"And they say chivalry is dead." Kat pursed her lips nervously, nodding to his cards. "Whatcha got?"

"Full house." Lou laid his cards out on the table, showing his three nine's and two tens. Kat's jaw dropped. "Sorry, hun."

"Wait, what?" Kat spluttered. "No, no, hang on…"

"I warned you," he said with a shrug. "They're good cards."

"Uh, _yeah_. Full house is third ranking right?"

"Fourth. Third's four of a kind, second's straight flush."

"Shit," Kat sighed, looking down at her cards. "Wait, so flush is…?"

"Flush is five cards same suit. Straight flush is same suit in order."

"Oh. Never mind, we're good."

She laid out her hand, showing off the three, four, five, six, and seven of spades.

The noise was immediate. Gasps, yells, laughter—everyone had some kind of reaction. Two or three of the men got up and knocked their chairs over just for kicks. A few were handing off money to each other, having placed bets on the game when they folded out. And poor Lou was just glowering at the cards in shock.

"I warned you they were good cards," Kat echoed slyly. She grabbed the pile of cash in the middle of the table. "Sorry, hun."

"Woah, now hold on one second…"

"Hey, don't hate the player, hate the game. I won fair and square."

"Right," said Lou, narrowing his eyes at her. "That's the part I'm still working on."

Kat kept her face even as she smiled at him. "Now, Lou. I know you're not insinuating that I had to cheat cause I'm a girl."

The ooh's and chuckles from around the table were enough to shut Lou down real quick.

"I ain't sayin' that," he defended. "Hell, I've known Ellen thirty years. I know women can sweep at poker."

"And don't you forget it," Ellen called from behind the bar. "Kat, break's over. Hop to it."

"Well, gentlemen, thanks for playing," said Kat, getting to her feet. She tossed a twenty back on the table with a wink. "Don't forget to tip your waitresses."

Jo was waiting for her at the bar, hiding a grin behind a dish rag. "So, fifty-fifty split?"

"Sixty-forty," Kat grumbled. "You told me he had three of a kind."

"What does that matter? You won, right?"

"Yeah, but that was mean."

"Oh, I'm mean?" Jo snatched Kat's apron out of her reach, holding it back incredulously. "Uh-uh. You don't get to pull that after the shit _you've_ said."

"I needed a reaction to cover you," Kat said with a smirk. "Don't be a baby about it."

"I'll stop being a baby when you stop being a bitch. Fifty-fifty."

"Fine. Fifty-fifty." Kat grabbed her apron, smacking Jo with it for good measure. "Fetus."

"Wannabe."

"Hey, Ellen?" One of the men was standing by the door, peering out the front window with one hand on his gun. "Big RV just pulled up out front. Looks like a bunch of tourists."

"Well then put the damn pistol away, ya nimrod," she snapped. Ellen clapped her hands once or twice, getting everyone's attention. "You heard the man. Civilians, incoming. So cut the shop talk, and guns away."

There was a general grumble of complaint as everyone moved to comply. It wasn't often that the Roadhouse got normal visitors. Ellen didn't exactly advertise, so most of their steady business was drummed up by word of mouth. But occasionally someone would get turned around on the interstate, or make a wrong turn on their way to see the biggest pizza ever baked or whatever. Ellen would serve them lunch, a couple of drinks on the house, and then send them packing so everyone else could breathe again.

The door creaked open, and a small girl peeked her head into the bar. Kat wasn't surprised by her hesitation. She looked about nine, and most of the bar's patrons were grumpy old men well over thirty. She wouldn't want to walk in either.

"Hey there," Ellen called to her with a comforting smile. "Something I can help you with, sweetheart?"

The girl's face did not relax, but she took a few more hesitant steps into the bar. She did not answer, just kept looking around the room in fear.

Ellen nodded to Jo to take over bar service and walked out from behind the counter.

"Everything okay, sweetie?" she asked, crouching down in front of the girl. "Where are your parents?"

That seemed to get a response. The girl focused on Ellen, her head perking up a little. She answered, presumably, but her voice was so soft that Kat couldn't even hear a whisper from across the bar. Whatever it was made Ellen nod, and she rubbed the girl's arm encouragingly.

"Well, that's nothing to worry about. You came to the right place. Hey, gentlemen! Can someone head outside and lend these folks a hand. They're having engine trouble on their RV."

Her announcement was met with silence as everyone exchanged disparaging looks, waiting for someone else to step up first. Ellen narrowed her eyes and stood up to her full height.

"Oh, you're all too good to work for your money now? I know at least three of you are mechanics."

"Yeah, you heard her Lou," offered Barry slyly. "You just lost a ton of cash. You could do with a paycheck."

The jeers that followed were enough to egg Lou out of his seat, though he swung at Barry for good measure.

"Alright, alright. I'm up. Lead the way little girl."

With some more coaxing from Ellen, the girl allowed Lou to follow her outside. Even though she'd barely been double digits, the bar relaxed the minute she'd disappeared. A few of the guys already had their bowie knives back up on the table. Not having them on hand for more than two minutes seemed to cause separation anxiety.

"Hey how 'bout another round, El?" Barry called. "I gotta head out in a few. Skinner's got a shifter on his ass down in Kentucky. Thought I'd lend him a hand."

"Will you shut your mouth?" Ellen snapped her dish towel at him. "How many times do I gotta remind you fellas? If there's even one civilian on this property, I don't want anyone talking about…"

 _BANG!_

Only in a bar full of hunters would everyone recover so quickly. An instant after the noise, the whole bar was on its feet. Weapons had been pulled from nowhere—guns, knives and salt all at the ready. Because most were veterans, they waited. The moment they heard the scream, they leapt.

Kat grabbed a knife and was halfway to the door, Jo right on her heels. But Ellen grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved them both back.

"No! Stay!"

"Mom—…"

"Both of you, stay!"

They would have argued, but Ellen had already disappeared out the door with her shotgun.

Jo was the first to dive after her, but Kat yanked her back. "Jo, wait…"

"No! You're on lockdown, not me!"

"Just wait! Okay? Come on."

They skidded to the window, peering out into the front yard.

Chaos was the best word. Kat was floored. She hadn't expected so many people. Five or six from the bar—sure—but there were at a dozen people in the yard, and more still piling out of the RV. It was a straight-up ambush. They could only watch in horror as another shotgun blast rang out, and Barry's body fell to join Lou's on the grass.

Kat swore loudly, catching the attention of one of the intruders. His head whipped around, teeth bared, eyes black.

Jo forced them both to the ground just as the window exploded. Glass rained down on them, the noise of the fight washing inside, but no one followed them inside.

"Demons," Jo spat, reading Kat's mind. "They can't get into the building."

"Right." Kat vaguely remembered Dean saying something about that weeks ago, but now wasn't the time to ask. "Still expected them to try."

"Yeah, more bad news. That means they already knew what they were walking into. They're definitely not here on accident."

There was another bang outside, and again, Jo tried to lurch for the door. Again, Kat wrenched her back.

"Which is why we _definitely_ shouldn't go out there!"

"I'm not leaving Mom," Jo said fiercely. "You stay here. I've got this."

"Jo, there's like ten of them! You don't…!"

But just like her mother, Jo had already grabbed her saw-off and barged out into the yard.

Kat gave a withering sigh. She trudged back to the bar, grabbing the knife she'd abandoned and one of the handguns from the bottom shelf. Then she took a swig from a flask stashed by the phone. Tying her hair back into a ponytail, she marched out after Jo.

It became clear very quickly that they were fighting a losing battle. Kat didn't want to dwell on it, but there were already several bodies strewn across the grass. All were in blood-stained, familiar flannel. Ellen and Jo, thank God, were still standing—though they were each fighting two to one. Kat barely had time to spot them before three demons rushed her and she was pulled into the fight.

All Kat could do was shoot for all she was worth. Still, there were only so many bullets. She managed to catch one of the demons in the mouth, which slowed him down enough that Kat had time to slice his throat open. She twisted and kicked, catching the next demon with a bullet to the stomach. But it was barely enough to make her laugh. Kat shot her in the face, then ducked the demon that was trying to grab her from behind. Her knife sunk into his shoulder, holding him in place long enough that she could shoot him in the back of the head. There wasn't so much of a scream as a displeased rush of air. Regular bullets might not kill demons, but it was a lot harder to fight when you were missing half your face.

Unfortunately, Kat hadn't managed to get half. The first demon rushed her from behind, yanking her arms behind her back as the woman she'd shot stood up again. A good chunk of her forehead was missing, but she was still smiling through the blood.

"You're a bad shot," she offered. She spat a wad of flesh out of her mouth, strolling casually over to look Kat in the face. "Three demons close-range and that's the best you can do? Why would anyone bother putting a bounty on your head?"

The demon holding Kat tightened his grip on her neck, and Kat did not respond.

"Aw, no witty comeback?" the woman pouted, running a finger along Kat's jaw. "You hunters are usually so mouthy. Where's your showmanship?"

She leaned in menacingly until they were nose-to-nose. Kat waited until the last possible moment, then spit.

The demon recoiled, wailing in agony as the holy water sprayed into her face. The man holding Kat was so taken aback that he didn't have time to recover before Kat had sliced his arm, his stomach, and shot him in the face. This time, she did not miss.

But the woman was already coming back for more. Kat took off like a rocket, bolting into the bar and sliding across the wooden floor. She scooted back against the wall under the window, praying that none of the demons had enough ammo to shoot her through the exterior.

 _Praying._

Kat bit her lip and clenched her eyes shut.

"Come on, Cas. Where's your voyeuristic ass when I need it? Cas. Castiel, please. Big problem, lots of demons. Please, Castiel, please…"

A loud whistle from outside silenced her muttering. Somewhere outside, someone was clapping in the sudden stillness.

"Wow, what a show! I gotta hand it to ya. I did not think you were going to make it this long. I wanna say I'm impressed, but you know…we've all got places to be. So how about we wrap this up? Katherine, you wanna come out of there?"

Kat's stomach sank. If there'd been any doubt before, there was none left now. The demons were definitely there for her.

"Kat, I don't have all day," the voice called again. Kat didn't recognize it beyond its feminine drawl. "Here kitty, kitty, kitty Kat. Come out, come out wherever you are. I think your friends here would really like to see ya before we, you know…gut them."

The easy way she said it was enough to send a chill down Kat's spine. Yes, they were here for Kat and, yes, she was safe inside. But as long as Ellen and Jo were still outside, she didn't have much of a choice.

She kept her face stoic as she stepped into sight in the doorway, her feet firmly planted inside the bar.

The lawn of the Roadhouse was now covered in blood. How much was human, she wasn't sure. Bodies littered the grass, but only half were getting up again—demons undeterred by their bullet holes and open wounds. Ellen and Jo were the only two humans left standing, each held in a chokehold and balancing on the tips of their toes. Standing between them was a short girl with dark hair. Her casual stance made it clear she was one of the demons, probably the ringleader. Her Cheshire Cat smile widened the moment her eyes landed on Kat.

"Aw, there she is. Kat Moore. You are not an easy girl to find."

"Yeah? Who's looking?"

"Who in Hell isn't looking?" she countered. "You've got a pretty bounty on your head, you know. And then you pull that grand-scale stunt in Belle Fourche? I mean, you pretty much put up a neon sign saying 'look for me here.'"

"Sorry," Kat said with a shrug. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Cute," the demon said, rolling her eyes. "And I appreciate that you're smart enough to stall, but I'm not dumb enough to fall for it. So why don't you call off the angel on your shoulder so we can talk girl to girl."

"Like I said. I don't know what you're talking about."

The demon girl considered her. She looked more annoyed than anything else. Kat knew that when her patience wore out, Ellen and Jo ran the risk of paying the price. But Castiel had to hear her. She knew he was coming, whether she could hear him or not. She just had to hold out a little longer.

Kat flinched as the demon raised a hand. But it wasn't to Ellen or Jo. Instead she waved to the RV, and the door swung open once more.

It was the tourist family—real tourists if Kat had to guess. Mother, father and daughter were each being dragged along by a demon. They'd probably been threatened into the ruse in the first place. Now, the demons threw the mom and dad to the ground at the lead demon's feet. Kat noticed with a sinking heart that the girl they kept back by the trailer.

"I had a feeling you were gonna be difficult," the demon girl said with a smirk. "So I guess we'll go to Plan B."

She helped the vacationers up to their feet, brushing off their shoulders with the air that she actually cared. Then she motioned to Ellen and Jo on either side of her.

"There we go. Mom, Dad—just one last thing I need you to do. If you could do me a favor and take off the pretty necklaces these women have on. Yup, the one with the star, there you go..."

 _"NO!"_

It all happened before Kat could comprehend it. The tourists snapped the necklaces off a screaming Jo and a thrashing Ellen. The air was filled with black smoke, and then it wasn't. Then it was just Ellen and Jo, no longer fighting back. Only watching Kat with devilish smirks and cold, black eyes.

At first, Kat thought it was her horror that was making her ears ring.

"Uh oh," the lead demon called, tilting her head back to look at the sky. "Sounds like your guardian angel's looking to make an appearance. Up to you, Kat. You can call him off, or your new foster family goes deaf, dumb, and blind."

Kat's skin was tingling. Now, Kat could recognize the tremble in her throat that meant Castiel was close. It was stronger this time, and somehow she knew implicitly that it meant anger. That meant fury.

"Okay, okay, just hold on," she said quickly, holding her hands out the demons. The she closed her eyes, focusing on the feeling in her chest. "Stop. Okay? Can you hear me? I need you to stop. Please."

The rage in Kat's throat vibrated, and her answer came in one simple word.

 _"No."_

The windows were beginning to rattle in their panes. Kat opened her eyes, watching the demons across from her. Most of them were getting nervous. Clearly, they'd overestimated her control over the angels. They hadn't really been expecting to come face to face with Castiel. Only the three in the middle seemed calm—their ringleader, and Ellen and Jo—both of their jaws set, ready to sacrifice their eyes if it came down to it.

Kat grabbed her knife.

"Close your eyes!"

She dropped to her knees, ignoring the ringing in her ears. She sliced open the outside of her arm, ignoring the gasps of her onlookers. And then she dipped her fingers into her own blood, ignoring the frantic feeling of Castiel's words in her brain.

 _"Katherine, do not…"_

But she'd already slammed her hand into the middle of the sigil on the floor.

The rattling stopped, and the surplus light drained out of the sky. Kat was breathing heavily, furious with herself. She'd just blown her only hope halfway to oblivion. Now she was stuck on her own.

"Good call." The brunette demon was smiling at her again. "Guess I won't be needing these anymore."

She waved a hand to Ellen and Jo, and Kat looked away just in time. The crack of bone pierced the air, followed by the blood-curdling scream of the little girl. Her wailing was just loud enough to mask the sound of her parents' bodies hitting the ground.

"God, will you shut her up? Put the brat back in the box. We're almost done here."

"Ugh, can't we just kill her?" It was startling to hear Jo's voice suggesting it. "I can't handle any more whimpering."

The other girl rolled her eyes, signaling to one of her other lackeys. One of the larger men scooped the child up kicking and screaming, and literally tossed her through the door to the trailer. He slammed the door, but they could still hear her sobbing. After a few helpless bangs on the door, she seemed to give up. Jo's demon opened her mouth to argue, and the other girl held up a hand.

"No, we are not killing her. That girl is the reason we just caught eight fully-armed hunters off guard. Kids are useful."

"They're also annoying."

"You think all humans are annoying."

"Not all the time," said Jo. Her smile was sinister as she kicked the man's body in front of her. "Not when they're dead."

The brunette scoffed, but smirked. "This is exactly why you're not in charge, sweetheart."

"Please, baby?"

"Excuse me?" Kat raised a hand from the doorway, catching their attention. "Hey, sorry. Hate to interrupt your lovers' quarrel, but can we just skip ahead to the part where you try to kill me?"

"Hey," Jo snapped, her eyes flashing black, "you sprayed me with holy water, bitch. You can wait for us to finish our conversation."

"Oh shut up, Lana," the first demon chastised. "We're not here to kill you, Katherine."

"Right. Just everybody else."

"Would you use your brain? You really think I would go through all this trouble to talk if I was just gonna kill you? If I wanted you all dead, I just would've burned the house down."

"I don't know you," said Kat. "All I know is that you're a demon, and Lilith wants me dead."

The girl stared at her. She seemed surprised for a moment—but it wasn't the same kind of surprise that the demons at the cemetery had shown. Instead of anger, she seemed amused.

"I don't work for Lilith," she said, smirk still firmly in place.

"You're a demon. She's the OG. Doesn't that automatically make you her bitch?"

"Wow." She snorted, looking back and forth between Kat and Jo—or Lana, as she'd called her. "The Winchesters really haven't changed their type, huh? Do they order all you sassy blondes out of a catalogue?"

Kat deflated. She should have guessed. She didn't know why she bothered hoping any of her problems didn't tie back to the dumpster siblings.

"Look," she sighed, "I don't have time for this. If you've got beef with Sam and Dean, you can get in line."

"So I've heard," the demon gushed. "I mean, my issues? I try to kill their dad, they kill mine—that's normal stuff. But you, you're—what was it again? Sam's dead ex-girlfriend's big sister turned hunter? You don't think that sounds a little contrived?"

"I _think_ you should start talking about what you want before I exorcise your ass."

Lana growled, rushing forward until her girlfriend caught her by the arm.

"Then let's talk," she said calmly. "You help me get what I want, and I'll help you get what you want."

"What I want?" Kat frowned. "What am I supposed to want?"

"I'd guess to not die, for starters." Kat glared at her until the demon folded. "Fine, and the safety of your friends here. Whatever."

"In exchange for what?"

"You come on a little trip with us."

"Where?"

"West."

Kat waited for an additional explanation, but the demon left it at that. When Kat finally did raise her eyebrows, she only shrugged and clicked her tongue. It was infuriating.

"Wow, thanks for the itinerary," Kat scoffed. "I'll take a pass."

"Perfect," Lana spat. "I say we go back to Plan A and burn the bitch, house and all."

"I've got a better idea."

The lead demon pulled on Lana's arm again, yanking Jo's body against hers. A flick of her wrist and there was a knife in her hands. She pressed the knife to Jo's throat and, in one quick motion, pulled it across.

 _"No!"_

Kat threw herself through the door. In an instant, the demons were on her. Her arms were seized and roughly tugged in opposite directions. Someone had taken out her knees, forcing her to slam to the unforgiving ground. She would have face-planted had they not been holding her so tight. Kat only fought for a few seconds. Any longer and she was certain they would have pulled her limbs from their sockets just to hear her scream.

"God, you're all so easy," the girl laughed. "Don't you get tired of being so predictable?"

"Fuck, give me a warning next time, will you?" Lana pouted, rubbing at her uninjured throat. "That could've hurt."

"Please. I barely nicked you."

She pressed a quick kiss to the side of Lana's neck—Jo's neck. Kat saw red. She pulled her legs up, putting all her weight into her arms so she could kick the legs of the demon on her right. It barely did any damage, but he was surprised enough to loosen the grip on her arm. She threw herself back, her left arm twisting painfully, but giving herself enough room to kick the demon's arm off of her own. When she was free, she clawed at the arms behind her. They scuffled in a circle—Kat kicking dirt up into the air in a desperate attempt to stand, her captor cursing as she dug nails through his skin.

A hard kick landed on her ribs. All the air left her body, and she was wrenched upright by her hair. She coughed painfully. It was a struggle to breathe with the man forcing her neck back at this angle.

The demon girl looked down her nose at her, and jabbed the knife pointedly.

"Enough. You can chill out and be a hostage like an adult, or next time I cut Blondie's throat for real."

"Ugh, can't we maim someone else?" Lana complained. "My host bodies have taken enough damage."

"Don't even think about it, bitch," Ellen's voice growled. "You're not the only one whose head got blown off."

"Oh, don't be a baby, Deg. You're just upset that you got the middle aged-hag, and I got the hot rod."

"Focus, you two," the ringleader warned.

Lana only simpered.

"But I can't. I just love this new body. It's so warm and feisty."

Her eyes flashed black, boring into Kat's as she reached back to grab the other demon's arms. She made a show out of dragging them around her waist, arching her back to lean into her, tipping her head back onto the other demon's shoulder.

Kat was torn. She couldn't watch, but at the same time she was determined to glare holes into the bitch until she burned the demon from the inside out. It was a good thing someone was holding her down. Otherwise she might have hurt Jo in her desperation to pry the fuckers off of each other.

It was only a few seconds before she had to look away. Somewhere, anywhere, anything but their wandering hands. That was when the trailer caught her eye.

With everyone focused on the show, none of the demons seemed to notice the flurry of the curtains. Just behind them, in the gap, Kat could make out the face of the little girl. She'd stopped crying, watching out of the window with concern. She jumped when Kat caught sight of her, and quickly disappeared again. Kat's heart sank, but the girl reappeared in another window. She vanished, then popped up again. Slowly, she was making her way to the front.

The demon holding Kat's hair stiffened, and Kat leapt into action.

"Alright, stop! I'll come! Just stop—stop fucking touching her!"

The demon girl smiled victoriously. She shoved Lana aside, ignoring her mewl of disappointment, and stuck her knife back into her jacket.

"See? Was that so hard?"

"If you fucking touch her again…"

"Yeah, yeah I get the picture. You go big bad older sister on me. Guess that didn't work out for you last time around, huh?"

Kat swallowed her fury.

"You can let go now," she grunted, pulling against the demon's grip on her hair. "You've already got hostages. I think I can walk."

The man didn't ease up until his boss gave him the go ahead. He tossed Kat forward into the dirt, and she took a moment to massage her scalp. She moved slowly, testing her limbs, unfolding her sore joints, dusting off her jeans. The demon girl watched her in annoyance.

"Are about do—…?"

A thunderous rumble cut through the air as the RV's engine roared to life. The demons whirled around, and Kat made a break for it.

Bolting forward, she shoved aside every demon in her way. Most fell aside without any resistance, but it was only a matter of time before the shock wore off. Kat beat aside hands grabbing for her, and nearly tripped when the air exploded with a gunshot.

"No! Don't shoot! We need her alive!"

Kat wrenched the door open and dove head-first into the trailer.

"Drive!" she bellowed, skidding across the floor.

There was a high pitched scream, and the engine surged as the RV lurched forward. Kat scrambled for support. She pinned her back against the stairs, bracing her legs against the door as the demons caught up to them. She kicked it repeatedly, pinning it closed as they punched and kicked to get in. The attacks thinned out as the RV outstripped them.

Kat would have stayed to guard the door, but a dangerous bump reminded her of her driver. She rushed to the front to find the small girl hyperventilating behind the wheel. It was a wonder she could even reach the pedals and look out the windshield at the same time.

"Okay, move," Kat ordered.

The instruction took the girl by surprise, and she only screamed in response. The RV sprang forward again, tumbling onto the road and veering into the next lane.

"Woah! Hey! It's me! Good guy, okay?"

Kat grabbed the wheel to steady them, but it didn't do much good. The most she could do was steer while they hurtled forward at dangerous speeds. They were already well over eighty. It was like playing a nightmare version of some video game.

The girl's screams paused as she gasped for air, and Kat jumped at her chance.

"Okay, hey. Hey, I need you to breathe, okay?" she instructed, struggling to keep her voice steady. "Okay? Can you do that for me?"

She nodded frantically, but did not loosen her grip on the wheel.

"Good. Okay, so I'm gonna count to three. And when I do, I want you to let go."

"No, no, no, no, no…"

"It's gonna be okay. I promise. You let go, you go sit in the passenger seat, and I'm gonna take over, alright?"

"No, no, no…"

"Yes, yes, yes. Ready? One, two, three!"

The girl sprang out of the seat like a spring. She was screaming again, but Kat couldn't blame her as the RV was wobbling wildly without a driver. Kat jumped into the seat to regain control. A few seconds later, they were cruising safely down the road.

Kat checked the rearview mirror, but no one seemed to be following them. Not yet, anyway.

"Here." Kat pulled the anti-possession charm from around her neck, handing it over to girl. "I need you to put this on, okay? That's gonna keep you safe."

It was only confusion that stopped her wailing as she stared at the necklace.

"But—But you…"

"I don't need it. It's a backup. Take it."

Uncertainly, she grabbed the charm, but did not put it around her neck.

"What were those things?"

"They're—They're the bad guys."

"What were they?"

"Nothing good," Kat said tersely. She had a feeling using the word 'demon' would not be a smart decision, and she really did not need to hear any more screaming today.

"But they were smoke! They were people and then they were smoke and then they—they—…!"

"They were just bad, okay? And now they're gone!"

The girl burst into tears. Kat felt bad—she did—but her sympathy was lost in adrenaline and anger. It was all she could do not to start screeching herself. Her veins were on fire under her skin, and the world felt like it was moving on fast forward. She needed to stop, and soon, or she was going to lose it.

"Okay. I'm sorry. Hey!" She had to shout to make herself heard over the girl's sobs, which was hard when she was trying to sound comforting. "I'm sorry. I'm Kat, okay? What's your name? Can you tell me your name?"

"M…I'm M…"

"Mary? Marie? Marilyn?" The girl wailed louder and Kat stammered. "Shit, uh…M—M—Megan? M—Masie?"

There was a hiccup she took as confirmation.

"Okay! Alright, Masie. Masie, I promise, I'm gonna answer all your questions, but right now I need a couple minutes to think, okay? Can you try and breathe for a couple minutes?"

Masie stared wide-eyed at the road in front of them. Her chest heaved, her cheeks stained with tears, and her hands were still white on the side of her chair, but she was not screaming. It was as much as Kat could hope for at the moment.

Kat looked at the road too, her jaw tight. A part of her wanted to crash and be done with it. She wanted to pummel the steering wheel into submission, to rave and cry and break everything in sight. But she was driving, and there was a kid, and there was no other option out. That's what she had to keep telling herself. Otherwise it would be her bawling behind the wheel.

She'd left them. Everything they'd done for her, and Kat had jumped ship and left. The demons could be cutting Ellen and Jo to pieces with every second she drove, and she was still behind the wheel putting more and more distance between them. Anything that happened to them would be her fault. If they got hurt, if they…

Kat shook the thought off. They weren't leaving. She was going back, as soon as she knew what to do. But there were a dozen demons, and only one of her. No weapons, no hostages, and almost no idea what they wanted from her. That was another problem itself. No matter how many ways she thought through it, there was no way she was getting out alone.

The RV groaned as she pulled over to the side of the road. Masie shot up like a rocket.

"What are you doing? We can't stop! What if they…?"

"They're not following us," Kat assured her. "They've gotta regroup, and so do we. Do you have a phone?"

Masie nodded, getting out of her seat and disappearing into the back. She returned with a small flip phone. Though Kat reached out for it, she did not immediately hand it over.

"This is my dad's," she said softly, turning it over in her hands.

Kat softened. But what was there to say? Sorry you watched his neck break? Sorry you're an orphan now? Sorry you're gonna be traumatized by demons for the rest of your life, but it gets better?

"I'll give it right back," she promised. Masie nodded, and handed her the phone. "Thanks. Why don't you stand look out in the back. You can let me know if you see anything."

"Okay…"

"And put that necklace on, okay? It'll protect you from the…smoke."

Masie nodded, slipping the necklace over her head and turning away. Kat knew there was probably a better way to handle the situation, but time wasn't something she had right now. She'd gotten them out of immediate danger. She'd give the girl a list of good psychiatrists later.

Kat turned back in her seat, punching the numbers on the phone. It rang so long that she almost panicked, but at the last second, someone picked up.

 _"Hello?"_

"Sam? It's Kat. I'm…"

No words followed. She simply didn't know what to say. With the adrenaline fading, the reality sinking in, she couldn't piece together the words.

Her voice must have trembled enough to get the danger across.

 _"What happened?"_ Sam demanded. _"Are you okay?"_

"Sam, they—they found us. The demons, they—they were at the Roadhouse."

 _"Where are you? Kat, are you okay?"_

"I'm fine, but—Sam, they've got Jo and Ellen. They had some tourists and they—they broke off their charms and now…"

She caught him cursing on the other end of the line. Luckily, years of practice had given Sam a far more level head in these situations, and he shut it down quickly. Kat was grateful. If Sam lost it, she wasn't sure what she would do.

 _"Okay, where are you now?"_ he asked directly.

"I'm on the side of the road, maybe a few miles out. They came in an RV, so I managed to get out with the girl."

 _"The girl?"_

"The tourists—the daughter. The demons had her locked up and she helped me get out. But her parents…"

 _"Yeah. I figured."_

"Sam…" She hated how weak her voice sounded. "What…what do I do?"

 _"You stay low,"_ he sighed. _"Dean and I are only a day or so out. Just keep driving, and…"_

"I have to go back."

 _"What? No! Kat, that's—that's exactly what you don't do!"_

"I'm not running," she said adamantly. "I am not leaving them behind."

 _"Kat, I—I know how hard it is. Okay? Trust me, I know. But Ellen knew what she signed up for when she took you in. If you go back there, all three of you are dead."_

"They're not gonna kill me."

 _"Kat…"_

"No, Sam, I know. The demons said. They don't want to kill me."

 _"What?"_ He stopped short. _"But the angels said…I mean, Lilith…?"_

"She said she doesn't work for Lilith."

 _"Kat, come on,"_ Sam groaned. _"Demons lie."_

"I know. But she prepped for this, Sam. She had hostages, she knew about the Roadhouse, about all its defenses, about me. Like, she knew exactly who I was. You, Jess…"

 _"Wait. She brought up Jess?"_

"Yeah. Well she didn't bring her up by name. She just said I was your ex-girlfriend's sister. And she definitely knew what happened to her."

 _"Kat, this is important. Did she say anything else about us?"_

"Uh…uh, yeah." She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember the exact words. "She said that she knew you guys. You hadn't changed your taste in women. And when I brought up having a problem with you, she said her drama was normal stuff. Something about trying to kill your dad so you killed hers."

She wasn't entirely comforted when Sam sighed in recognition.

 _"Meg."_

"Is that bad?"

 _"Uh, yeah. That's pretty bad."_

He didn't say anything else at first. Kat glanced at the clock, tired of waiting for answers. They didn't have time to tiptoe around the truth.

"So? Who is she?"

 _"She's uh—Azazel's daughter."_

"What?"

 _"Yeah. I mean, I don't know how demon paternity works, exactly, but that's what she meant. She was his right hand man, one of the demons that was trying to kill us when we were looking for the Colt. We've sent her back to Hell a couple of times, but…she's good at holding a grudge."_

"Okay. So what does that have to do with me?"

 _"I don't know,"_ he admitted. _"She could be laying a trap, using you as bait. She didn't say anything else?"_

"No. Just that she knew about you, about Cas—that's why they possessed Ellen and Jo. So I couldn't burn their eyes out like last time. She wanted to head West, and they needed me alive for something."

 _"Well, we're west,"_ Sam reasoned. _"Dean and I just finished a case in Vegas. Crossed into Wyoming this morning."_

"Where is Dean?" she asked, with a new pang of worry. "He's not...?"

 _"No, he's fine. We're both fine he's just...uh, back at the motel. I just went out for lunch."_

"Was your case about a seal? Demons? Is there anyway they'd know where you are?"

 _"Uh, nope. No, no demons. But um...you know, Meg's found us before. Found Jo before, so I wouldn't be surprised."_

It didn't seem to occur to him that it had been the wrong thing to say.

Kat pulled the phone away, pressing a hand over her mouth to hold in the pitiful sound trying to escape from her throat. God. It was unbelievable how much she'd fucked up. These weren't some shitty demons trying to catch her for a bounty. These were high level players. They knew what they were doing, had a plan. And Kat knew nothing. Meg had already known Jo would be a weak point, just like she'd been for the Winchesters. She'd used her like a pawn. And Kat let her take it.

Her fingers were trembling. Kat quickly tucked them into a fist.

"I just...Sam, I need you to tell me they're gonna be okay."

She knew it wasn't easy for him. He waited too long for it to be simple. But when he spoke he sounded confident, and Kat couldn't express how grateful she was for that.

 _"They're gonna be fine, Kat. Meg's smart. She knows you wouldn't leave them, and if you're coming back, she still needs leverage against the Angels. She's not gonna touch them."_

Kat nodded, counting her breaths.

"Okay. So what do we do?"

 _"Well, I've got one idea. Actually, it's kind of yours."_

"Mine?"

 _"Yeah. But I don't know how well it's gonna work. This is a lot of demons we're talking about. We can't half-ass this."_

"Sam," she sighed, "half-assed is all we've got. Let's do it."


	36. Chapter 36

_"Hey, you've reached the number for Jo Harvelle. Leave a message, I'll call back when I can. Thanks."_

"This is Kat Moore. If you still want to go on your little trip, now you know how to reach me."

Kat ended the call, and tossed the phone onto the table. Sam hadn't been kidding when he'd called the plan half-assed. The whole thing was stuck together with chewing gum, tape and a prayer. But it was better than running in circles, so Kat figured it was worth a shot.

It had taken the entire phone call for her adrenaline to fade. The moment it did, a stinging pain woke up in Kat's arm. She'd completely forgotten about slicing it open to ward off the angels. Somehow, the whole altercation felt like days ago. Her arm, however, begged to differ.

The farmhouse had been empty, with old locks that weren't hard to pick. There wasn't much in the way of medical supplies. The best she could do at the moment was tape some paper towels to her arm and try not to move it. She couldn't find any gauze or sewing supplies. What she did find was a new shirt—one not stained with blood—and the keys to an old pickup in the garage. She felt bad about taking them, but they didn't have a lot of options. So she'd left half of her poker winnings on the counter, the money still in her apron when she'd run out of the bar, and taken the truck.

That was how they'd ended up here—she and Masie sitting at a McDonalds with two shopping bags from Super Kmart and a container of untouched chicken nuggets. Kat only bought them to occupy the girl while she was stitching herself up in the bathroom. She wasn't surprised to find the food untouched when she got back.

They sat in silence for the most part. Masie had asked a few stunted questions on the way over, and Kat had done her best to answer them, but that conversation had died fast. The truth wasn't much of a comfort when it was more nightmarish than your suspicions. At the same time, Kat didn't want to leave her alone with her thoughts. She knew what a dangerous road that could be.

"How you doing over there?" she asked, nodding across the table.

Masie did not look up as she shrugged.

"Yeah," Kat sighed. "Yeah, I figured as much."

To fill the silence, she pulled the chicken nuggets closer to her. She toyed with the food, taking a bite out of half of one and giving up immediately. It was hard to stomach anything with her anxiety.

"You don't have to come, you know." This time Masie lifted her head, and Kat watched her in earnest. "I could wave down someone on staff, tell them you're lost, call the police. You'd be safe."

Masie frowned. "But…what if they were…?"

Kat's jaw clenched. She hated seeing that look of suspicion and fear on a face so young.

"They won't be. It's me they're looking for. Not you."

"Why are they looking for you?"

"Um…well, I'm not sure. They really don't like my friends, so…I guess they're trying to hurt me to hurt them."

"Are your friends coming for you?"

"They're gonna try," she said with a small smile. "But they're kind of far away. So I'm just gonna have to take care of it myself."

Masie nodded. She pulled the chicken nuggets back toward her, taking a small bite out of one of the pieces. The rest she abandoned on a napkin.

"Are they really demons?"

Kat froze, wide-eyed, something that Masie did not seem concerned by.

"I heard you talking on the phone."

"Oh, well…" Kat pursed her lips, and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I was gonna explain it better than that."

"We learned about demons in Sunday school," Masie explained quietly. "Father Little says that they're inside people. That's why they make bad decisions or have bad habits. Is that what the smoke is? Demons?"

Masie looked at her, eyes wide and fearful, but steady. She wanted her answers, and she was going to get them. That was a lot of determination for a kid. And in internal debate, Kat decided not to lie.

"Yeah. They are."

She bobbed her head again. It did a good job of disguising the way her lower lip trembled.

"Does that mean you're an angel?"

"No," Kat laughed. "No, I'm not an angel."

"But you're fighting the demons. Father Little says that angels and demons are enemies."

"Well, yeah. They are. But you don't have to be an angel to fight demons. You just have to…decide that you don't like what the demons are doing, and…try to stop them. It's hard. And it's dangerous. But it means that you can protect people. And stop them from being hurt."

Masie's eyes sank, as did Kat's stomach. She bit her lip, and leaned over the table.

"I'll tell you what though," she whispered. "I have a friend, and he _is_ an angel."

"Really?" gasped Masie. Her eyes lit up, making Kat smile. "A _real_ angel?"

"Mhm. His name is Cas."

"Like Casper?"

"Yeah, like Casper."

"Can I meet him? Is he gonna come here? Is he gonna help you?"

Kat hesitated, her smile withering.

"Uh…no. No, Cas is kind of far away too."

"Oh, yeah." Masie nodded in understanding and sat back in her seat. "He's probably in Heaven."

"Yeah," Kat chuckled weakly. "I really hope so…"

The cell phone trilled on the table, making both of them freeze. Kat's face returned to steel. Pushing her doubts aside, she answered the phone.

"Hello?"

 _"Well, hi there! This is Jojo Harvelle calling you back? Is there something I can help you with?"_

"Give the phone to Meg, Lana."

The simpering voice cut out immediately. There was a quiet huff, and muffled voices on the other end. With a rustle, the demon passed the phone.

 _"Well, well, well,"_ Meg sang. _"Looks like somebody did her homework."_

"You got my message?"

 _"God, one little attack and you go running off to the Winchesters. I didn't think you'd be such a tattletale."_

"Do you want my help or not?"

She could just picture the devilish smirk on the demon's face.

 _"Fine. And what do you expect me to give you in return?"_

"Ellen and Jo. Are they still…?"

 _"They're both in one piece for now. No need to carve up the walls of the new apartment. But they don't go free. That's not on the table, sweetheart."_

Kat frowned. She wasn't entirely surprised. There was no way Meg would give up her leverage over the angels. But it was still disappointing to hear.

"Fine," she said bitterly. "But you stay away from Masie."

 _"Who?"_

"The girl. She goes free. No one looks for her, no one tracks her, no one touches her."

 _"Oh, yeah. Whatever. We'll forget about the twerp."_

"Good. There's a shopping plaza a couple miles down the road from you. You can take one of the trucks and..."

 _"Woah, woah. Hold up there, kitty cat. You think you're giving the orders now?"_

"What? You wanted to go west right? This is west."

 _"Aw, you never go to a second location, Kat,"_ she chuckled. _"Everyone knows that. Just how stupid do you think I am?"_

Kat clenched her teeth. "Do you want an honest answer?"

 _"Alright, tough girl. How about I put it like this? I've got two hostages right now. I only need one to stop you from calling your buddy Clarence."_

"Don't," Kat spat, so venomously that even Maddie jumped. "Don't you touch them."

 _"Then stop fucking around. You've got thirty minutes to get back here before I slice Mama Bear's throat."_

"I need more time than that."

 _"Then I guess you better drive fast."_

Meg ended the call without giving her a chance to argue.

It was tough to resist the urge to crush the stupid flip phone in her bare hands. Kat slid it across the table to Masie before she could do any damage.

"There. Take that. Dad's phone, just like I said."

Masie picked it up and held it close to her chest. Her eyes, however, never left Kat.

"Do you have to go back?"

"Uh, yeah. I have to go back."

Kat pinched the bridge of her nose. This was not going to be easy. If she was being honest with herself, she didn't think it was going to work. But there was nothing else to be done. It was die, or let Jo and Ellen die in her place. All she could do was hope that some of that Winchester luck had rubbed off on her.

She gave Masie a bracing smile, and busied herself with the shopping bags.

"Good news is that you don't have to. I'm gonna flag down a staff member, get you some help. You've got the necklace, so the smoke can't get you, and you've got the cell phone, so you can probably call some aunt or uncle or…"

"No!" Masie practically leapt over the table, grabbing Kat's hands tight. "Don't leave me! I promise I'll be good!"

"M-Masie, hey! This isn't about you, okay? This is the only way I can keep you safe. I'm not bringing you back there."

"No, no, please don't leave me! I don't wanna be alone!"

She was crying again. The other customers were beginning to look over at them, some reproachful, others concerned. Kat smiled apologetically, desperately trying to wrestly free from Masie's grip. But the girl was practically manic, latching on the Kat like her life depended on it.

"Noooo! NOOOOOO!"

"Is there a problem here?"

One of the McDonalds employees had come over, her eyes suspicious. Kat couldn't believe her bad luck. Of all the times for someone to actually worry about a child that was screaming in public, it had to be now. Why couldn't they just glare at her in passive aggressive silence like every other bystander when kids were throwing tantrums?

"She's fine," Kat assured the worker. "She's just being dramatic…"

"I DON'T WANNA STAY! I DON'T WANNA BE ALONE!"

Masie burst into a new fit of wailing, sparking the employee's suspicion. She looked hesitantly at Kat, who grimaced.

"No, I—I wasn't gonna leave her. I'm babysitting, and she…"

"I WANNA…"

"Fine! You can have the stupid McFlurry!"

The crying stopped for an instant as Masie looked at her in confusion, her big eyes welled up with tears. Kat gave her a sharp look.

"And if you're good, I'll let you eat it _in the car_. Deal?"

Masie pouted, but nodded, finally releasing Kat's wrists. Kat snatched her arms back before the stupid kid could change her mind.

Five minutes later, they were talking back to the truck—Masie eating her ice cream under Kat's grudging watch. She was livid, but she couldn't think of any other options. She was on the clock, and the last thing she needed was someone calling the cops on her for reckless abandonment of a child that wasn't even hers. Explaining the situation again wouldn't help. Masie was too young to understand the danger of going back to the bar. All she knew was that there were bad people in the world, and only one that wasn't trying to hurt her. Kat wished she could stash her somewhere, but the Roadhouse was going to have to do for now.

Kat looked over at Masie, settling in the passenger seat, completely focused on her ice cream.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Masie did not look up from her ice cream. She stared down at the candy streaking through the vanilla, and finally nodded.

"Alright. Then let's go."

It took them more than twenty minutes. Meg had to know it would. That's what Kat kept telling herself as she drove closer to the Roadhouse. It wasn't a real deadline. It was just to make her anxious, bend her to the demon's will. Ellen and Jo weren't in any more danger than they'd been when she left.

…which was still a ridiculous amount of danger…

Kat didn't breathe until she pulled up into the yard. Most of the trucks were gone, leaving the lawn an open space of grace. Meg stood in the middle, completely at ease, flanked by Ellen and Jo—no. Flanked by Deg and Lana. There was only one other demon present, a burly man with small eyes and a patchy beard. No one had bothered to move the bodies.

"Close your eyes."

Like a suburban soccer mom, Kat's had shot out to cover Masie. She did not slow the truck down. And as much as she wanted to, she did not mow down the demons. Instead, she pulled over the grass and drove around to the other side of the bar, slow enough to make it clear she was not running for it. They parked just beyond the dumpster, leaving several yards between them and the back door.

Masie had frozen still. Just the sight of the demons seemed to have sent her into shock. Kat had to work to get her to look back at her, and cupped her face with both hands.

"Hey, you're gonna be okay. All you've gotta do is stare right at that back door and walk straight to it, okay? No one's gonna touch you. No one's gonna come after you."

"What…What if they…?"

"They can't," Kat assured her. "They won't be able to get in the house. It's protected, just like your necklace. You'll be safe, and I'll be right behind you."

That didn't seem to comfort her. Maybe Masie could tell that she was just bullshitting. Kat backpedaled like she had before, and changed the subject.

"But you know what?" she asked, her voice going up an octave. "I could actually use your help."

"With what?"

"I have a kitty inside, and he's been alone all day. I didn't even get a chance to feed him this morning. So maybe you could find him and play with him while you wait."

Masie blinked at her.

"I'm allergic to cats."

"God," Kat sighed, releasing her. "I saved your life, okay? You can feed the cat."

The demons rounded the corner of the Roadhouse, filling into the gap before the truck. Kat glanced over at Masie one last time. Her jaw tight, she slipped out of the driver's seat and walked around to help the girl out of the truck. She made her movements were big and exaggerated in an attempt to keep Masie's attention on her, instead of the four demons that were watching their every step.

"Remember," Kat whispered, "straight to the back door. Don't even look at them."

She patted her on the head before Masie started toward the house. The demons had ever so thoughtfully left a gap for her, a path to the back door lined with two demons on either side. Masie's steps were slow and deliberate, her head fixed forward as she stared at the house. And she almost made it without a problem.

When she was halfway across, Lana leapt forward.

"Boo!"

Masie screamed and sprinted the rest of the way to the house. The door slammed behind her, but none of the demons had bothered chasing her. All of them were too busy laughing.

"We had a deal," Kat fumed, and Meg waved her off.

"Oh come on, that was funny. And we didn't kill her, right?"

"Meg…"

"Fine, whatever. Starting now we forget about the kid. Are you coming or not?"

Kat straightened her shoulders and nodded. She joined the demons in the middle of the clearing, heading for the back door. But Meg stepped in front of her.

"And just where do you think you're going?"

"I'm just gonna pack a few things," Kat said, as casually as she could.

"Things," Meg snickered. "Right, like holy water and some rock salt."

"Like clothes," Kat bit back. "Or my toothbrush. All you said was 'west.' I don't know how far we're going."

"You're not gonna need any of that, Kat."

Before Kat could blink, there was a demon on each of her arms, and she was slammed into the ground again. Lana was laughing behind her, one hand holding her neck in a bruising grip. She yanked Kat's head back, forcing her to look into Meg's eyes as they flicked to black.

"Thanks for giving the kid your necklace, babe. It makes it a lot easier to do this."

Meg grabbed Kat's face, forcing her jaw open wide. Kat only managed half a breath before the smoke invaded her throat.

It was suffocating. She wanted to fight back, to rip the sensation out of her mouth and scream. But Kat couldn't breathe, think—let alone cry out. It was torture, and it felt endless. She could feel it working through her mouth, down her throat, and then—nothing. It swelled up in one spot, as if it had hit a barrier and could go no further. It pushed, expanding and writhing inside of her, until finally it gave up.

Kat sagged in the arms of her captors as the smoke rushed out of her. Meg gasped back into her body, and instantly rounded on Kat. It was incredible how much fury the blank black of her eyes could express.

"Sorry," Kat panted. "Boys got me all tatted up. Forgot to men—…"

The words fell out of her mouth as Meg smacked her with as much force as a demon could muster. Lana's grip stayed tight on her neck, forcing her to feel the full strength of the hit. Kat reeled. She spat a trickle of blood onto the ground.

"Fine," Meg spat somewhere above her. "I'll cut it off of you."

"You—You don't think I thought of that?" Kat managed to lift her head, squinting up at her. "Tattoos are deep tissue, bitch. You try and flay this off of me I'll be dead from the blood loss before you can cough smoke."

"Then I'll just have to burn it off you."

She leaned forward, pinching Kat's cheeks together in her hand. Kat could feel the breath of her growl, could just imagine the pain of having the skin seared off her back. And all she could do was laugh. It made Meg grip her tighter, and it fucking hurt like hell, but all she could manage was a giggle.

"God, what did they do to you?" she asked, her words muffled and squished from the demon's grasp. "Give it up, Meg. I called the Winchesters. They know you're coming. The moment I show up, they're gonna test me to make sure I'm not possessed. You can't get to them through me."

Meg dropped her. Lana did too, and the sudden lack of support made Kat slump forward. But Meg pushed her hair out of her face, kneeling down to her level and lifting Kat's chin with a single finger. She was smiling.

"You poor thing," she cooed. "You still think this is about the Winchesters?"

Kat's stomach dropped.

"Sweetheart, I've got bigger things to worry about than those two maggots. I'm in this for the grand prize."

She looked from Meg's grin, to Lana's proud leer over her shoulder. This was not the opportune time to find out she was missing part of the puzzle. Especially when that puzzle painted a picture of the Apocalypse.

"I thought you said you didn't work for Lilith," Kat bit.

"I don't. But she's not the only one who wants to bring daddy home."

"What the hell does that have to do with me?"

"What can I say?" Meg asked with a shrug. "I'm a sucker for revenge. Using you gets to the Winchesters, I kill two birds with one stone."

She poked Kat on the nose, then stood up to her full height.

"Lana, why don't you see if there's a cigarette lighter in that shitty truck? I'll burn off every inch of Barbie's skin if I have to."

"Mm, I love when you talk dirty," Lana hummed. She pecked Meg on the cheek. "One Barbie Barbeque coming right up."

Kat wished she could have watched. Lana skipped out of sight, heading for the truck behind them. Kat listened to the sound of grass under her feet—until it stopped. It sounded like she'd stumbled back, taken another step forward, only to stumble again. Kat's head hung low, her hair hiding her face as it split into a smile of relief.

"What the fuck?" Lana spat. "I can't…?"

Meg was the first to piece it together. She grabbed a fistful of Kat's hair and hauled her to her feet, wrenching her right out of the other demon's hands.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," she hissed. "A devil's trap?"

"Hey, don't look at me," Kat winced. "I didn't build it. You were just stupid enough to walk into it."

Her foot landed in Kat's stomach, and she went flying. It wasn't as far as she might have gone if Meg had her full power, but that was just one of the benefits of being inside a devil's trap. Still, she was definitely airborne before she landed hard. Meg tried to rush her again, but had to stop short. Her kick had landed Kat right outside of the trap that she still couldn't see.

"I don't have time for this," she barked. "Lana! Deg! Slash their—…"

 _SPLASH._

Meg shrieked as a torrent of water poured on her from above. Everyone in the yard froze, slowly looking up at the second story window where two little hands could still be seen holding onto a plastic jug. The rosary was still tied around the handle.

"You little bitch," Meg hissed through gritted teeth. Her skin was still smoking. "I'm going to—…"

Masie let go of the jug, which promptly fell on top of Meg's head.

Kat scrambled to her feet as Meg collapsed into screams again. She wrenched off her flannel, and called up to the window.

"Masie! The CD! Go!"

The girl disappeared from the window, and Kat reached up under her shirt to grab the two items she'd duct-taped to her back. One was a CD, which she slid toward the back door. The other was a brand new water gun.

She charged back into the devil's trap, side stepping Meg's writhing form and heading for the other three demons. Deg and Lana had already reached for their knives, ready to start hacking away at their host bodies, but Kat held her gun up steadily.

"Don't."

They paused, but only to laugh in disbelief.

"Are you kidding me?" the burly one chuckled.

"Hey, laugh all you want. It's gotten me out of a pinch before."

"Not the gun," said Deg. "You. You really think some holy water is gonna stop us? Meg already told you. This is about Lucifer. Any one of us would gladly die to get him back. Holy water is nothing."

"How is this about Lucifer?" Kat demanded. "What are you trying to do?"

"God, this is boring," Lana scoffed. "Let's get to the good part."

She raised her knife again, and Kat tackled her.

Everything else was a blur. She was trying to wrestle the knife away from Jo's body and aim the water gun at Ellen's at the same time. The third demon had joined in to begin kicking and punching her from all sides, but she didn't have a free hand to fight him off. As it was, she kept slipping because her hands were covered in blood. She was moving too fast to figure out whose.

It probably would have ended that way, her beaten unconscious between three demons as she fought to keep them from destroying each other. Until a new sound carried out over the lawn—Kat's own voice.

 _"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omis satanica potestas…"_

Each one of the demons seized, convulsing at the sound of the words. They were still trying to grab her, but their movements were stunted enough that she was able to slip out of the tangle of their limbs.

"Louder, Masie!"

Inside of the Roadhouse, Masie must have heard her. The volume on the stereo system doubled, and through the back door the rest of the exorcism pulsed into the yard.

Deg leapt at her, but Kat dodged with ease. She landed a kick into Ellen's back, and wrestled the knife out of her hand.

Next was the burly demon. He didn't seem to have much control. Kat would have guessed that he was the lowest level demon there. But he was smart enough to realize that his sheer mass would impede her even if his demon strength wouldn't. He tackled her head on, his body nearly flattening her. If Kat had still had the water gun taped to her back, she might've broken her spine. At the moment, all she had was Deg's knife. And thankfully, this bozo didn't have a body she cared about.

She wrestled her arms free, pinning down one of the lackey's hands. Then she slammed the knife through it into the dirt. The demon howled, and Kat was pleased to see a trail of smoke puff out of his mouth.

But there was no time to celebrate. Meg was back on her feet, blade in hand, and she and Lana were rushing toward each other with clear purpose.

Kat wrenched the knife out of the ground and threw it at Meg. The handle clunked into her shoulder without any reaction, but it didn't matter. Kat was already sprinting into the space between them. She pounced on Lana, moving Jo's body out of the way of Meg's weapon. Lana fought back two-fold—her knife landing in Kat's arm instead of Jo's stomach, and her teeth sinking into Kat's shoulder.

It was like fighting a rabid dog. No matter how hard Kat thrashed, she couldn't shake the demon loose. And at the same time she had to scramble, forcing them away from Meg, who was trying to stab her girlfriend around Kat's full body shield. Her swings were wild, imprecise as her body jolted back and forth. And finally, she collapsed to her knees.

 _"…ut ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate sirvire, to rogamus, audi nos!"_

Kat watched as the sky filled with smoke, torrents of black twisting up into the sky. The ground trembled as they all dove down and finally sank down into the grass.

"Oh, gross!" Jo pulled her mouth away from Kat's shoulder, and spat furiously on the ground. "Disgusting."

Kat sagged back against her, head dropping back on to Jo's shoulder as she laughed in relief.

"Yeah, right back at you. Can you get your knife out of my arm now?"

She groaned as Jo complied, sliding the knife out of her arm as carefully as she could for someone who was being pinned down. Jo threw the knife aside, and tapped Kat on the shoulder when she didn't move.

"Think you could move now? You're kinda suffocating me, babe."

"Relax, Joanna Beth. This girl just saved our lives."

Ellen was brushing herself off, looking mostly unscathed. She hurried over and grabbed Kat's good arm so she could help haul her to her feet. The moment Kat was steady standing, Ellen yanked her forward into a crushing hug. She only pulled back when Kat winced; she was probably nursing several bruised ribs, after all. Kat was shocked to see Ellen actually teary-eyed when she pulled away. She mumbled an apology, and wiped her eyes before pouncing on her daughter, pulling her into an identical embrace.

Kat smiled, feeling pleased but also awkward as hell.

"Don't give me too much credit," she offered as Ellen and Jo broke apart. "It was your trap, and Sam had to tell me it was there. You really buried an iron devil's trap in your backyard?"

"I didn't want to take any chances the second time around," Ellen said dismissively. "Got the idea from Colt's trap out in Wyoming. And it was still up to you to get them in it."

"And get us out," Jo added. "Where the hell'd you get that exorcism idea?"

"Sam again," said Kat. "Said he and Dean had done a prerecording last time they got ambushed. I recorded it on my phone, got the CD at Kmart. It really is a super store."

"And the new holy water gun?"

Kat winced as Jo nodded to the brightly colored plastic, lying discarded a few yards away.

"Actually just a water gun. Couldn't find a church, so I was kind of hoping they'd just believe me and roll with it."

"Huh." Ellen nodded, clearly impressed. "Psychosomatic holy water."

"…Sure. Whatever you said."

"So what do we do with them?" Jo asked, turning her attention to the two bodies in the grass.

"Depends," said Ellen. "They still breathing?"

She crossed back to the burly man, while Kat helped Jo roll Meg's host onto her back. Jo traced her jaw and ghosted her fingers over her neck.

"She's got a pulse," she called. "Probably fainted from the stress. I think she's fine though."

"He's not," Ellen replied. Kat's stomach sank, but Ellen was already shaking her head. "Nothing you did, sweetheart. I had to guess he had a lot of internal bleeding before they showed up here. I'll make a few calls. The girl we can take to the hospital, set up a hunters' funeral for the rest of the folks. Most of them don't have anyone waiting at home."

"Shit," Kat cursed, already hurrying toward the house. "Masie."

The bar seemed empty at first glance. The speakers hummed loudly, the volume still pumped though the CD had ended. It was eerie to see that everything was exactly where they'd left it. Chairs were still scattered around the room, the window's broken glass sprinkled along the floor. Barry's cards were still stacked on one of the tables.

Kat approached the bar carefully, peering over the top. Behind it, she could just see a tiny head of frizzy hair.

"Hey, Masie. It's okay. It's over now."

The hair was replaced by a set of wide, tearful eyes. Then she was darting around the counter, sprinting around the corner and throwing herself at Kat. She rocked back from the impact of her second unexpected hug. All she could do was pat Masie's head and try and make it seem comforting.

The back door creaked as Ellen and Jo joined them inside, and Masie scrambled behind Kat's back.

"No, no, it's okay. Remember? Demons can't get in the house. These are my friends, Ellen and Jo. You can trust them."

Masie peered out from behind Kat's back, and Ellen and Jo waved cautiously.

"You were really brave out there," said Ellen. Her voice easily smoothed out to that maternal tone she'd used earlier. "Thank you for all your help."

"Yeah, Masie, you really saved my ass," Kat laughed. She reached behind her, brushing the girl's hair back. "How did you know what to do with that water?"

"I saw the necklace," Masie mumbled. "Mommy has one just like it. She always brings it to church."

Kat's jaw tightened, and she looked to Ellen for instruction. But Ellen and Jo were just as much at a loss. There was no good way to broach the subject of death at a time like this.

"What about the others?" Masie asked. "The rest of the demons. Are they gone?"

"Uh…no," Kat sighed. "Not yet."

"Damnit," said Jo, shaking her head. "I didn't even think of that. There's gotta be—what, half a dozen more?"

"Meg said they were out looking for me. Are demons like…I don't know, a hive mind? Do you think they'll know she's gone?"

"Doubt it," said Jo. "I'm more concerned about what they're gonna do when they find out. Scatter to the wind or try and finish the job."

"Well, I'm not too worried about that."

Ellen walked behind the bar and started grabbing things from the shelves. A container of salt, a case of shells, a press machine, and four empty glasses. She chose a bottle of whiskey from the counter, pouring a portion into one of the glasses and tossing it back without formality.

"This time we know they're coming. So this time, we'll be ready."


	37. Chapter 37

**TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains references and discussion of sexual assault and nonconsensual actions. Please proceed with caution.**

* * *

The cleanup that followed helped Kat come to a decision.

They stayed inside of the bar for the rest of the night. The doors and windows had all been relined with salt, their ammo replenished so they could take out any stragglers. But none of the demons returned to the Roadhouse. Word must have gotten around somehow, and the lower level demons wouldn't chance storming a fully stocked stronghold without their leader. But it was only a matter of time before someone else took a shot.

When the sun came up, Ellen called the police. It seemed she had some kind of arrangement with the local sheriff, which she summarized solely as, "she owes me a favor." It must have been one hell of a favor, because the sheriff came to process the scene alone. She completely ignored Kat, ignored Jo, even ignored the pyre they were building in the backyard and the bodies piled around it. There were only two bodies she cared about, and those were Masie's parents.

Their names were Phil and Sarah Dunphey. Kat and Jo were put in charge of keeping Masie occupied while Ellen and the sheriff loaded her parents' bodies into the truck. They drove them down the road, not far from the farmhouse where Kat had ditched the RV. As far as everyone else was concerned, the Dunpheys had been on their way home from a family vacation when they'd been flagged down by hitchhikers. They'd been hijacked, and the criminals had ransacked the RV before killing the parents and hitting the road. The only reason Masie had survived was because she had hidden under the bathroom sink. When she'd finally gained the courage to leave the RV, she'd run down the road until she found the Roadhouse, and Ellen had called the police.

They'd coached Masie on the story, but it wasn't easy. As soon as the shock of the day had worn off, she'd become inconsolable. She was either screaming in tears, or eerily silent. Kat had no idea what to do with her. It was worse because for the first twelve hours, Masie wouldn't her alone. She was the only person she trusted to touch her. But eventually Kat had to put her foot down. The girl Meg had been possessing still hadn't woken up, and since Kat was the only one currently demon-proof, she had to make the drive to the hospital. Masie had thrown a fit of course. But by the time Kat had made it back to the Roadhouse, Masie had found a new friend in Ellen and wouldn't leave her side.

She was only staying with them for another day or two. The police were able to contact some aunt or uncle, and they were just waiting for their plane to land in Nebraska. Until then, Masie was on lockdown inside the bar. Just like the rest of them.

Kat was sitting on her bed, her phone in her hands. The demons already knew where she was. There was no harm in her calling her mother. But she still couldn't force herself to make the call. She'd been gone for so long. She knew her mom was probably still furious, and there was nothing she could say to change it. Her mom would have too many questions. How had the demons found her? What did they want? Where was she going now? Kat wanted to make sure she had answers before she got into that conversation.

Realistically, she knew she wouldn't be calling for a long time.

"Do you enjoy needlessly risking your life?"

Kat jumped, started by the arrival of the man standing at the foot of her bed.

"I'm sorry," she blurted. "Cas, I am so sorry. I didn't know what else to do."

"Next time I'd advise that you stay out of the way and let me do my job."

Kat glared at him, and Castiel glared right back.

"It was Ellen and Jo," she argued. "I asked you to go back, and you didn't. I wasn't going to let you burn their eyes out just to keep me safe."

"Katherine, your safety is paramount," Castiel said wearily. "It is my responsibility to..."

"And I appreciate that," she interrupted. "I do. But with all due respect Castiel, I don't give a shit."

"That would be contradictory."

He looked at her perplexed, eyes squinty and his head to the side. Frustrated as she was, she couldn't help but smile.

"Look, Ellen really stuck her neck out for me when she took me in. She knew I was on a hit list, and she still let me stay, even though that made her a target. It's only because of me that the demons attacked in the first place. So if she's in danger, or if Jo's in danger, I'm gonna protect them with everything I've got. Even if that means me."

Castiel considered her. Mostly, he looked grumpy. But even if his lips weren't quite smiling, Kat got that impression from his eyes.

"That is noble," he commended. And just like that, the warmth vanished and they were back to business. "You can't stay here."

Kat sighed, turning back to her phone. "Yeah, I know."

"I will report to my superiors. A safe house will be set up, where you can..."

"No."

She swore she could feel his exasperation in the air.

"Katherine, you cannot go home."

"Know that too," she laughed bitterly. "Trust me, if there's anything this whole thing has shown me, it's...just how much I can't risk going home."

"Then what exactly are you proposing?"

Kat flipped the phone in her hands again, then dropped it onto the bed. She stood to face Castiel.

"I... God. I can't believe I'm gonna say this, but...I wanna go with Sam and Dean."

Castiel's broken record response skipped in confusion. That clearly wasn't the answer he'd been expecting. But his needle quickly found its way back into the groove.

"We've already discussed why…"

"Why it's a bad idea, yeah. But that was before I became the first human to save a seal, so. I'm hoping the angels will reconsider."

She held her ground, staring at him doggedly and waiting for him to argue with her. But Castiel didn't argue. He didn't say anything at all. He just stared at her in that strange way that he did, curious and unblinking. Kat tried not blinking either, refusing to show weakness, but it was a lot harder than he made it look.

"We tried your way," she offered. "I kept my head down, stayed out of the way, and the demons still came for me. So why should I go hide in some corner when I could be out there fighting them? Making their lives as difficult as they're making mine? I could help the Winchesters. Like I was supposed to."

Kat held her breath, sure that would get a favorable reaction. But Castiel's eyes only narrowed further.

"God! Can you just say something? It's so creepy when you do this!"

"I apologize," he said, without an ounce of regret. "I merely thought you would be more agreeable."

"Yeah, well, I'm stubborn," she scoffed.

"I'm aware. But I did hope you would regard your choices with some kind of caution. In light of new information."

He said it so formally, but it didn't stop a chill from running down Kat's back.

"Do you know what they want with me?" she asked, her voice weak.

"No. I honestly don't."

Kat sank back down onto the bed. That certainly wasn't good. If her life was hanging in the balance and not even Heaven knew why, what kind of odds must she have?

The floorboards creaked as Castiel moved in front of her. She looked up instinctively, following the hem of his coat, his twisted tie, up to his permanently wind-swept hair. His face had softened. For now, his eyes seemed blue like rain instead of steel.

"You will be protected, Katherine. Whatever the demons may want with you is irrelevant so long as you remain my responsibility. And wherever you decide to go, I will be with you."

She couldn't help another small grin.

"What happened to 'I could take you anywhere and there's nothing you can do about it'?"

"That is true. But something tells me that knowledge would not prevent you from putting up a fight. I'm learning rapidly that you are a very diligent and resourceful person."

"You mean I'm annoying?"

"Yes."

Kat laughed, loudly. It must have startled Castiel, because his eyes widened and his entire body visibly tensed. It only made her laugh harder, to the point where she had to cover her mouth with her hand. She might not have stopped if someone hadn't knocked loudly on her bedroom door.

"It's Ellen," Castiel informed her, still looking bewildered, "and the child."

"Masie, she's—Masie!" Kat jumped to her feet, jabbing a finger at his chest. "Do not move."

Ellen was already squinting suspiciously when Kat poked her head out the door.

"Everything okay in there?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Come on in."

She stepped back, ushering them both into the room. Castiel was hovering awkwardly by the bed, and Ellen froze at the sight of him. They'd never officially met, but Kat was sure she was already putting the pieces together. Masie on the other hand quickly ducked behind Ellen's back, eclipsing herself from the stranger's view.

"Hey, it's okay," Kat assured her. "Ellen, Masie, you remember that friend I was telling you about? Well, this is Cas."

"Figured as much," Ellen said shortly. "Good to meet ya."

"Likewise," said Castiel, nodding to her. "Thank you for your assistance over the last few weeks. Your cooperation is immensely appreciated."

"Well, I'm just the queen of cooperation. Anytime."

Her cool smile did not shake him. Kat could only guess that Castiel was getting used to the contempt that humans seemed to hold him in. She wondered if it had always been that way, or if in biblical times things had really been so shitty that people were happy to give up their lives to take orders from a higher power.

Masie poked her head out again. Her small hands clutched at the hem of Ellen's plaid shirt, and her eyes were blown wide. Far from Ellen's hostility, Masie was staring at Castiel with clear and unabashed awe.

Kat looked at him pointedly, tilting her head in the girl's direction.

"Uh, hello," he offered, nodding formally to her as well. "It's…good to meet you, Masie."

Her head poked out a little further. It took her one or two tries to find her soft-spoken words.

"Are—Are you really an angel?"

"Yes. I am."

"Can you go to Heaven?"

"Yes."

"Could you find my mom and dad?"

Kat's heart dropped through the floor. Stupid, stupid—how could she possibly overlook everything that had happened to Masie over the past few days? Of course that would be the biggest question on her mind. Kat would about to leap in, to frantically backpedal before Castiel could say anything blunt and insensitive, when she noticed that the angel was smiling softly. His eyes surveyed her gently.

"I assure you that your parents are well kept in Heaven. They will be safe, and cared for, and completely at peace."

"But could you find them?" Masie asked adamantly. "Is Heaven really big? I know there's a lot of people, and I don't want them to get lost. They need to know I'm going to live with Aunt Linda or they won't be able to find me. I don't want them to worry."

"That is not how…"

Kat and Ellen both cleared their throats, glaring at him furiously.

"Ahem…Of course. I will let them know."

Masie beamed at him. In the next instant, she'd let go of Ellen's shirt and flown across the room. She collided with Castiel's hips, hugging his legs tightly and pressing her face into his overcoat.

"Thank you, Casper."

Kat really thought she deserved a cash prize for swallowing her laughter. Castiel didn't even have it in him to look affronted or confused, he was so panicked by the small body glued to his front. He brought one hand up cautiously, and tapped it stiffly against the top of her head.

Ellen snorted.

"Alright, Masie, well he can't deliver your message until you let go. Come on, sweetheart."

Masie squeezed Cas a little tighter, then released him so she could beam up at his face. "Are you going to stay for dinner? We only came up to ask what we should make."

"You even eat?" Ellen quipped.

"No. My vessel does not need traditional food or rest to sustain itself. My grace will suffice."

"Of course," she said dryly. "How could I forget?"

"I doubt you would have had that information in the first place."

"Cas," Kat sighed. She shook her head, scrunching up her nose.

Castiel squinted at her, but evidently decided that continuing the conversation was not worth the effort.

"I will inform my superiors of your decision."

"Right," said Kat, ignoring the sharp look Ellen sent her way. "Thanks, Cas."

He nodded to her, then once to Ellen and Masie, and disappeared.

"Woah!" Masie shot forward again, standing in the spot where Castiel had stood and looking back and forth wildly. "He's gone!"

"Yeah," Kat chuckled. "He had to go back to Heaven."

"That's so cool! Did you hear his wings! I couldn't see them but I could hear all the feathers! Where were his wings? Have you seen them?"

"No, that's…actually a good point. I have to ask him about that sometime."

"Yeah," Ellen said shortly. Her eyes still hadn't moved from Kat. "Masie, why don't you go tell Jo what you saw? And ask her what kind of burger she wants for dinner."

"Okay!"

Masie darted out of the room, and Ellen snapped the door shut behind her.

"Your decision, huh? Something you wanna share with the class?"

Kat bit her lip. She hadn't anticipated telling anyone just yet. She was kind of hoping she could push the whole thing off until Sam and Dean arrived. Then she could just…leave. No awkward goodbyes, no drawn out explanations. It was a coward's way out, but she wasn't too proud to take it.

Ellen crossed her arms over her chest, and Kat deflated.

"We both know I can't stay here, Ellen."

"Why not?" she demanded. The fury in her voice told Kat she'd seen the argument coming. "This bar is the safest place in Nebraska. Just let 'em try and take you. I'd like to see them try."

"They have tried, and they almost did."

"Oh, not when I'm through with them. You wait. There's a whole bunch of other defenses I'm rigging up for this place. The next time a demon steps foot in my yard they are going to be in for a big surprise."

"Come on, Ellen. They know all it's gonna take is one hostage and all three of us will be out of this house in a second. I cannot stay here."

"So you're just gonna leave Jo and me to fend for ourselves, huh?" she accused, smoothly changing attacks. "What happens when those demons come back to use us as leverage? You going away ain't gonna make us any less of a target."

"And if that happens, I'll come back," Kat promised. "But I can't keep sitting around waiting for it to happen. I've gotta fight back."

Ellen pursed her lips and furiously looked away from her.

"You know, you might be more stupid than both those boys put together."

She pinched the bridge of her nose, and Kat laughed weakly.

"Well that's kind of a low blow."

"No, I—I know. Problem is, I don't blame you for it."

"You sure about that?" Kat asked. "Cause it kinda sounds like you do."

"I don't. It's the worst part. I figured you'd be off like a prom dress the moment things went south around here. And I know if it were me standing where you are, I'd be saying the same thing. I just don't want you to go."

They stood at a silent standoff. Ellen still wasn't looking at her, and Kat wasn't sure what she was supposed to say. The earnest confession had caught her off guard, to say the least.

"Suppose that doesn't matter," Ellen sighed when she finally turned back to her. "You're gonna break Jo's heart, you know."

"She'll be fine," said Kat weakly. "The bar will keep her busy, or she can go back to hunting."

"Yeah that's exactly what I need. Both of you out on the road."

"It's gonna be okay, El," she said bracingly. "If Jo does head out there, I've got a feeling she'll check in a bit more often. And if I'm on the move, I can call you too. I'm not gonna drop off the face of the planet."

"Right," Ellen snorted. "Right up until you take on some souped up demon and get your pretty ass killed."

"Well, the demons want me alive, right? Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing."

Ellen moved so quickly that Kat didn't even see it coming, which was saying something. She slapped Kat's arm so hard that the sting sent her recoiling back. Her skin was already bright red, but she couldn't hear her own yelp over Ellen's tirade.

"You say one more bullshit crack like that, Katherine, and I will whoop your ass so hard you won't be able to drive more than a mile. Are you kidding me? You've gotta be out of your goddamn mind!"

"Ow, fuck! I was kidding!"

"Well keep your damn jokes to yourself next time." Ellen brandished a finger at her and headed for the door. "Wash your hands and come down for dinner. Burgers'll be up in an hour."

"Can it be a cheeseburger?"

The door slammed without a response.

Dinner was an awkward affair. Ellen had cooled off by the time they sat down to eat. At least, she was no longer yelling and hitting people. She kept up a steady stream of polite conversation, the tightness of her voice barely noticeable. And even though they were all talking and pretending things were normal, she didn't look Kat in the eye even once.

Kat might have thought Ellen was still mad at her, but Ellen made it a point to pat her on the hand or back whenever she passed. Serving dinner, getting up to kick on the jukebox, asking Kat to pass the napkins—everything was accompanied by some tiny motion, as if Ellen was trying to remind herself that Kat hadn't left just yet. Kat leaned into every brush, knowing it was dissolving her resolve.

When dinner was over, Kat went to clear the dishes, only for Ellen to gently grab her wrist.

"I got this, sweetheart. You go ahead."

"You sure, Ellen? You cooked, so I can…"

"Ah, don't worry about me. I got it."

She stared determinedly down at the dishes as she collected them, only accepting help from Masie as she piled the smaller items into her arms. Ellen shot a stiff smile at Jo, and then fled the room with her little helped.

Kat chewed on the inside of her lip.

"Pool?" she suggested to Jo, nodding toward the table.

"Really?" Jo snorted. "You're asking to get your ass beat?"

"Eh, call me a masochist. Come on."

They crossed over to the other side of the bar to set up the game. Kat racked up the balls while Jo focused on prying Oliver's off of the table. He still hadn't given up his favorite napping spot, which meant hardly anyone had played pool since they adopted him. But after a few minutes of coaxing, Jo managed to unhook his tiny claws from the felt, and moved him to a bar stool in the corner so he could watch. Next to him, the jukebox kicked over to Queen.

Kat offered the cue stick to Jo, who shook her head.

"After you. If I go first, you'll never get to play."

"Wow, rude."

She stretched her arms obnoxiously, exaggerating her aim as she lined up her shot. She struck hard, and the balls scattered across the green. By some stroke of luck, one of the balls actually rolled into a pocket.

"Well would you look at that?" Jo offered as Kat moved in for another shot. "Maybe you actually have learned something here."

"Yeah, don't hold your breath," Kat chuckled.

She missed her next shot, and stuck her tongue out at Jo for jinxing her. Jo grinned, but it melted away as fast as it came. She circled the table, looking absorbed in her options. It took Kat by surprise when she spoke.

"So when are you leaving?"

"When—What?"

Jo sank one of the striped balls and gave Kat a sour look.

"I'm not an idiot, you know. Mom's been tiptoeing around me all night. And you suggesting we play pool? Not exactly your most subtle peace offering."

"Right," Kat sighed, sinking back against the wall. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Jo shrugged casually, her eyes back on the game. "I knew you'd have to go at some point. When Masie told me Cas was here I figured you wouldn't even stick around for dinner. Not much of a safe house if the demons know where to find you and spill down your throat."

"Yeah, I've been meaning to ask you about that. How you feeling?"

"Fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, you were possessed for a start…"

The cue ball skipped across the table, bumping idly into a few fellow balls but making no real progress. Jo cursed under her breath and glared at Kat.

"I told you, I'm fine."

"Jo…"

"What do you want me to say? I was possessed, it sucked, it's over. You got rid of the demon and for that I can't thank you enough. So will you please just take your turn?"

Kat placed her cue stick deliberately back onto the rack.

"Fine," Jo snapped. She tossed her stick to the wall, where it bounced and clattered loudly to the floor. Oliver yowled in protest, jumping off the high stool and tumbling to the ground. He skittered into the shadows and Jo moved to storm after him. "I didn't want to play your stupid game anyway."

"Jo, I'm not asking to coddle you," Kat sighed. "I know you can handle yourself."

"Oh really?" Jo laughed, whirling back around. "Then why are you so far up my ass?"

"Because I know how scary it is to have someone take control away from you. And I know how hard it is to get that feeling out of your head."

Jo narrowed her eyes at Kat's steady answer. "You've been possessed?"

"…No."

"Great. Then stop pretending you know I went through."

"I don't know what you went through," Kat insisted. "I only know what I went through, and how much it sucked. That's why I'm asking you to talk to me."

"Well, I don't want to talk to you."

"That's fine. But if you were gonna change your mind, your window of opportunity's pretty tight. I'm leaving tomorrow, so…"

Kat shrugged, and leaned back against the wall. She heard Jo scoff and retreat out of the room. It'd been worth a shot, anyway. She could always give Jo her number and hope the conversation wasn't too awkward over the phone.

But before she could cut her losses, Jo was back. A bottle of beer in each hand, she passed one to Kat as she walked by. She took a seat on the vacated bar stool and stared vacantly at the pool table. It was a few minutes before she spoke.

"I can't sleep."

"Okay," Kat urged softly. "Why not?"

"I don't know. It's like every time I'm about to drift off, my whole body freezes up. Like I'm afraid if I let go I might not be able to get a grip again. And next time I wake up it won't be me."

"I'm pretty sure that's normal, considering what you went through."

"Yeah, well it sucks. And by the time I can sleep, it's all nightmares. I still remember every second, and I'm just watching it over and over. Breaking that guy's neck, fighting you, letting her…"

Jo trailed off. She swallowed the thought and chased it with a gulp of alcohol. Then she hid her face her hand. Kat's heart broke to watch her.

"I—I can still feel her touching me. Whenever I sit too still. Like she's still here."

"Yeah," Kat nodded. "That I know is normal."

"I just want to stop feeling it, you know? It's like I can't scrub it off."

"You already have." Jo threw her a side eye, but Kat persisted. "Seriously. You know you lose something like a million skin cells every day? The top layer of your skin is constantly flaking off, getting everywhere, becoming dust."

"Gross."

"I know, but…that means the places she touched you are long gone, Jo. I know you still feel it. But that wasn't the skin you have now."

Jo snorted, but it was a watery, pathetic sound.

"What crappy therapy website did you get that off of?"

"That's what they told us in group therapy, actually," said Kat, with a rueful smile. "Come here."

She wrapped an arm around Jo's shoulders, forcing the girl to lean against her. It was a stiff embrace, but Jo melted into her side. She was still, and then she was shaking. And Kat didn't push her to talk as the quiet tears seeped through her shirt.

It was over as fast as it began. Jo sat up and wiped at her face. If anyone had walked into the room, it might have been impossible to guess what was going on.

"I'm sorry," said Jo, her voice hitching.

"Hey, it's alright. You don't need to…"

"No, I mean for yelling. You were just trying to help and I freaked out. I didn't realize that you…"

"It's fine," Kat said firmly. "You didn't know. I'm telling you now."

"I know, I just…I feel stupid. No wonder you didn't want to answer me about your love life."

Kat scrunched up her nose in confusion.

"Twenty questions," Jo elaborated. "I…well, I asked you the last time you had sex and you drank. It was the only question you skipped, so…God, I'm really sorry about that."

"Oh, no." Kat laughed, and laughed harder at Jo's horrified face. "No, that wasn't because of that. I just didn't want you to think I was lame."

"Why on earth would I think you were lame?"

"Well, cause it's…" She waffled, then blew a very defeated raspberry. "It's been a couple years."

"How many years?"

"Uh…five."

Jo's draw dropped. She hurriedly shut it again, pressing a hand over her mouth, but the laughter sparked from behind her eyes. Kat was too amused to be offended.

"Alright, go ahead. Laugh it up, Cammie."

"No—hey! We agreed I was Violet, not a Cammie!"

"Yeah, we agreed that when we were watching the movie, but if you're gonna laugh at me now that tells me you are getting a load of ass on the side. I might have to change my answer."

"No!" Jo hit her arm, smothering her giggles. "No, I just…I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting that kind of answer, and…different people have different views of different things. You've gotta do shit in your own time. I get it. Sorry."

"Nice," Kat smirked. "What crappy website did you get that off of?"

"Shut up, bitch."

They snickered for a while, just nursing their beers in comfortable silence. Kat had almost finished hers when Jo elbowed her gently in the side.

"So? Who was it?"

"Knock it off, Jo."

"Seriously. I wanna know. It's been five years, so they must have been pretty special."

"Yeah." Kat grinned, shaking her head at the dead bottle. "She was."

"So?" Jo elbowed her again, insistent. "Who was she?"

Kat pursed her lips, but after a few more pokes and prods, she relented.

"Actually, her name was Beth."

"Shut up," Jo laughed. "You're shitting me."

"No, seriously. We uh…we met in a support group, right after I finished up college. It started out as just a few coffee dates, swapping stories, sad shit. And then uh…"

"Then you were swapping spit?" Jo teased.

"God," Kat snorted, "no wonder you're so into Dean. You're the fucking worst."

"Sorry, sorry. So what was she like?"

Kat smiled fondly, and played with the label on her bottle.

"Funny, mostly. She was really funny. If I hadn't met her in therapy, I never would have guessed what she went through. Her ex-girlfriend was a really piece of work. Controlling, manipulative, degrading. And Beth never showed any of it. Not to anyone else, anyway. She was just this gorgeous, funny girl. Always had her face in a book, never got tired of the beach. She liked country music, which was awful, but she was from Louisiana, so…what can you do?"

"She sounds great," Jo said warmly.

"She was. My parents liked her, Jess liked her. God, Jess actually loved her."

"Then…what happened?"

"Nothing," Kat said with a shrug. "I was working to open the gym, she said I wasn't around enough. Things snowballed, and uh…we decided we weren't ready for anything long term. Just how life works, I guess."

"Yeah, well no secret that life sucks. Still. I'm sorry things didn't work out."

"Me too." Kat smiled wryly and tapped Jo's knee with her empty beer bottle. "What about you? When was the last time you got some?"

"Ugh," Jo grumbled. "Sampson."

"Ooh, Sampson. There a story there?"

"Absolutely not. It was a pity fuck. He threw me a tip on a case, I needed to blow off some steam. So not interested in long term."

"He's a hunter?" Kat asked, scrutinizing her. "How old is he?"

"Excuse me?" Jo giggled. "None of your damn business."

"No, I'm not asking to be nosy. Just like, you say hunter and I think of all these old farts we get at the bar—forty and balding and desperate. I just want to ensure your standards are set where they need to be."

"He's not balding," said Jo, rolling her eyes.

"But he is forty?"

"No! He's thirty-two thanks very much."

"Ew." Kat wrinkled her nose. "And a cradle snatcher."

"Shut up, gimp."

"Fetus."

Jo laughed. She drained her drink, and clinked it lightly against Kat's.

"I'm not gonna lie. I'm gonna miss having you around."

"I'm gonna miss being here. But I'll be able to call whenever you wanna talk."

"I thought Heaven didn't have cell service?"

"About that...I kinda annoyed Castiel until he let me out of the whole safe house thing."

"Okay. So where are you going?"

"Sam and Dean are picking me up tomorrow. I uh…enlisted for the front lines of Team Apocalypse."

She watched Jo hesitantly, waiting for her to explode. She'd rehearsed the argument in her head. Jo would argue that if it was safe for Kat, it was safe for her. She'd demand to come with her to get in on the action. Kat would stand her ground, reminding her that she wasn't going to fight. It wasn't up to her to stop the Apocalypse. She was only going because she had the ability to talk to angels, and that might give Dean an edge. At least, that's what she was going to tell Jo. And if she argued the point, she'd throw in the fact that Castiel would be on standby to teleport Jo home if she tried to tail them. Hopefully Jo would be too intrigued by the idea of Castiel taking her anywhere to form a good argument.

But Jo didn't fight her. It took a few seconds for the information to process, but when it had she just gave a dry laugh.

"Wow. I'm not sure who I'm more jealous of—you or them."

"Um, it better be them."

"Alright, we'll go with them." Jo shot her a smug look out of the corner of her eye. "Maybe I should tell Dean about your dry spell though. Bet he'd put an end to that real quick."

"Don't you fucking dare." Kat intended it to sound dangerous, but as soon as Jo started laughing, she lost her resolve. "Whatever. I wouldn't want to steal your man anyway."

"For you, I'll make an exception."

"Oh, I'm _honored_."

"Hey, you need it more than I do. Five years celibate is probably what's making you so cranky."

"Okay, that's enough of that," Kat laughed, yanking Jo out of her seat. "Get off your ass and get back to wiping the floor with me at pool."

"Fine, fine. You got it, sister."

* * *

 **A/N** : Hey everyone! Thank you for all the support you've given this story. I so enjoy sharing it with you, and it's been good to share things on this site again instead of hoarding my stories like a goblin and never publishing. I did want to give you all fair warning that **this story will be taking a hiatus in a few weeks' time**. I like posting every Tuesday, so I want to finish the next section rather than running the risk of running out of material in an awkward place.

 _Gospel of the Chosen Act I_ , as it were, will end with chapter 39. I am not making a new story link and chapters will still be posted here. I will begin posting again once I've finished writing season 4, hopefully around September once more.

Thanks again, and I will see you all next Tuesday!

-Brittney


	38. Chapter 38

It was no secret that Sam was a bitch. But for some reason, he was bitchier than usual.

Dean couldn't figure it. He thought that Sam would be on cloud nine. They'd picked Kat up from the Roadhouse, and word was that she was planning on hunting with them until the threat of the Apocalypse was dealt with. If it was ever really dealt with, anyway. They were on a cross-country road trip to Bobby's—Sam in the front, Kat in the back, and both of them so intent on driving Dean up the wall that he was surprised he hadn't crashed the car. By all accounts, Sam should have been pissing himself with happiness.

Clearly that was not the case. They'd stopped for the night after crossing the border of Nebraska. Kat had gotten her own room again, like she'd done on the shifter hunt. Dean had expected to wake up alone, for Sam to run off and get breakfast and spend the morning chick flicking it with his girlfriend. You know. Like he'd done on the shifter hunt. Instead, Sam was sitting tensely on the end of his bed, hunched over his phone like it held all the secrets in the world. Or maybe just one really big secret.

Dean tried not to think about the phone call he'd overheard in Vegas. The one that had very clearly not been Bobby, the way Sam had said it was, and was very likely Ruby. Dean had left it alone, not wanting to get into a fight when Sam was already so wound up. But it was still weighing pretty heavy on his mind.

That was one of the reasons he hadn't fought when Kat had told them about her agreement with Castiel. Sure, it'd be nice to have another set of hands on deck to help with the Apocalypse—even if those hands were attached to a bitchy blonde with a penchant for punching—but mostly Dean was worried about Sammy. If he really was cooking things up with Ruby again, flirting with whatever it was he'd sworn off to get clean, he needed someone to set his head straight. And if Dean's nagging hadn't been enough, the threat of Kat's unbridled rage might just do the trick.

Of course, that plan only worked if Sam started spending time with her.

"Hey," Dean called, breaking his brother out of his reverie. "You check out this article about the heartless bodies they found in that lake?"

"What?" Sam blinked, almost surprised by the newspaper in Dean's hands. "Oh, uh...yeah. I read it."

"And?"

"I don't know. Guess it could be a werewolf."

"O-kay...and do you wanna check it out?"

"Uh, no not really."

"Why not?"

"Dean, those bodies were in Michigan," Sam scoffed. "We're in South Dakota."

"So? We can drive that in like a day. Maybe less if you stopped using the bathroom every five miles. Besides, they're dead. They're not going anywhere."

"Yeah, well we are. Bobby's—to get Kat's car?"

"Bobby ain't going anywhere either. And if he did he wouldn't take that dinky microwave Kat calls a car. Prius will still be there."

"…What are you doing?"

Sam was staring at him blankly, and Dean quickly shrugged it off.

"What do you mean what am I doing? What are you doing?" Sam started to laugh, making Dean's frown deepen. "What?!"

"Sorry, it's just uh—you. Suddenly you're all down to let Kat ride with us. Usually you're ready to push her out while we're still moving."

"Well yeah, the chick's no pocket full of sunshine. I don't want her in my car."

"Trust me, the feeling's mutual. You try and tell Kat you're putting another day between her and her wheels, she might just key the Impala."

"She even looks at Baby wrong and I'll pop her in the trunk again. See how she likes it," Dean grumbled. "Besides, Kat's been cooped up at the Roadhouse for so long, figured she'd be restless. She's probably chomping at the bit to get on a new case."

"Not one that involves driving right past all her stuff without stopping," said Sam. "Let's just get to Bobby's first."

"I still think we should ask."

"No, Dean. Leave it."

"Come on. It's what, a week tops? She can make it without her car."

"Okay, one, that's rich coming from you. Two, it's not about the car, okay? It's about having her space, being in control for once."

"Right. Sure you know all about that."

Sam slowly turned to give him a dirty look. Dean busied himself with the newspaper.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing. Forget it, man."

It didn't look like Sam was going to forget it anytime soon, but he left it for the moment. Instead he turned back to his phone, tapping away and intently staring at the screen.

"Who are you texting anyway?"

Sam's head shot up. He stared at Dean, then huffed in harsh disbelief, "Unbelievable."

"What? I'm just asking."

"No, you're prying. Cause you're a dick."

"I'm not prying. I'm just being curious. It's not that waitress by Bobby's right? Cause you know I called dibs."

Sam abruptly got up from his seat. He grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and headed for the door, leaving Dean to throw his arms out.

"Where you going?"

"I don't know. Get breakfast with Kat. Anyone that's not you."

The door slammed behind him, and Dean frowned appreciatively. That hadn't been too hard. Sam was still a bitch, but it could've gone worse.

With Sam out of the way, Dean kicked back and sank into bed. He had the whole place to himself. He could just chill out, relax, enjoy some rare alone time. He could nap. He could have beers before noon without Sam on his back about it. He could watch porn without headphones for a change. This—This was luxury.

And he wasn't even bored for the first five minutes.

Dean squeezed one eye open, peeking at the ceiling. Alone time sucked. He wasn't tired, he wasn't thirsty, and he wasn't particularly horny. He could always go for breakfast himself, but he wanted to give Sam some distance and he didn't know where he was going to end up. He could give Baby a once over and a tune up, but he'd just done that last time they stopped at Bobby's. The same for weapons inventory. Everything was already done. And apparently, he wasn't even allowed to start looking for a new case until they got to Sioux Falls.

"Son of a bitch," Dean grumbled, wiping his hands down his face.

He'd backed himself into a corner. There was nothing he could do until Sam and Kat wandered back from their heartfelt breakfast. He was just gonna have to sit there, bored off his face. All because his whiny little brother was being an annoying little bitch.

Dean's eyes snapped open with a thought. Yes, his whiny little brother _was_ being an annoying little bitch. Maybe it was time for his older brother to teach him a lesson.

He waited a few minutes, just to be sure Sam and Kat would both be gone. Then he rolled out of bed, grabbed his lock picks, and ducked out into the parking lot.

No one was loitering around outside, but he knew he'd have to be quick just in case. He pressed an ear to Kat's door, listening for motion inside. Satisfied that no one was there, he crouched down in front of the door and set to work on the lock. He pinned his bottom lip between his teeth in frustration. There hadn't been a lot of time to practice since he'd gotten out of Hell, what with all the angels and seals and other bullshit. His fingers fumbled the fine teeth, and he cursed under his breath. Twenty-odd years of practice and he was rusty after a few months off the job.

The doorknob rattled under Dean's hands, and he promptly fell on his ass in surprise.

The motel door swung open, and there was Kat looming over him. She had a pocketknife in one hand and her iPod in the other, the headphones dangling around her neck. It said something about her that she didn't put the knife down, even once she'd seen who the intruder was.

"Can I help you?"

"Fuck. Uh, Kat, you're…? I thought, um… What are you doing here?"

Wrong response.

Kat's eyes narrowed into slits, and she repositioned the knife in her hand.

"In my room?"

"No, uh…Sam said you two were going to breakfast."

"Well, obviously not. Why are you trying to break into my room?"

"Oh, I just uh…" Dean took his time getting up from the ground. He tucked the lock picks in his pocket, dusted off his ass, inspected the siding of the motel building. "I was just looking to borrow some stuff."

It wasn't a huge surprise that Kat's eyebrows climbed higher in suspicion.

"Borrow?" she echoed. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. No panty raids this time."

Her lip curled in distaste, but she must have decided he was being genuine because she lowered the knife.

"Okay, like what?"

He'd underestimated how uncomfortable it was going to be to vocalize the answer.

"Um…girl stuff…" The knife glinted again, and he quickly cleared his throat. "Feminine...products…"

Kat stopped. He couldn't see the emotions on her face, but he could guess what was going through her head. More distrust, disbelief, disgust, the whole gamut. But to his horror, the expression her face settled on was amusement.

"Excuse me?" she giggled—actually _giggled_.

"Alright, laugh it up, Tinkerbell."

"I'm sorry. Sorry, are—are you having a not-so-fresh day?"

"No!" He'd nearly shouted in defiance. Kat started laughing harder, and he quickly composed himself. "Look, I was gonna prank Sam, okay? He's been bitchy lately, so I figured I'd lend him a hand. You know, clearly it's his time of the month."

Kat's laughter died nearly instantly, and Dean grimaced.

"Right. Probably not the best audience for that joke."

She considered him. He braced himself to have the knife poked into his chest, or the door to be slammed firmly in his face. But Kat's lips just pulled into a disappointed pout.

"Juvenile. You can do better."

"Juv…? Excuse me?"

Kat turned on the spot, walking back into the room but leaving the door open behind her. He took it as an invitation and followed her inside.

"It's just boring," said Kat, flopping down onto her bed. "What, you were gonna steal some of my tampons and stuff them in his shoes?"

"I…what? No, I…I wasn't uh…"

It was infuriating to see her so satisfied.

"What are you, twelve?" she asked.

"Bite me, Barbie. You just don't think it's funny cause you're a chick."

"I don't think it's funny because it's not. And it's unoriginal to boot."

"Right, cause you know so much about pranking."

He'd planned to make a quick exit back out the front door—regroup next door and try and drink off the utter embarrassment that felt like it was sticking to his skin like sweat—but Kat actually snorted.

"You realize you're not the only older sibling on the planet, right?" she scoffed. "Jess and I used to prank each other all the time when we were kids."

"Yeah, I'm sure she was real upset when you swapped her turquoise nail polish for teal," he jabbed.

Kat's surprise only registered for a second before it was swept under a look of steely determination. She sat up straight and crossed her arms over her chest.

"I booby trapped Jess's locker for her birthday all four years she was in high school."

"With what?"

"Balloons, the first two years. I rigged it to pop when she opened the door, and she screamed like a banshee. Sophomore year I did the same thing, but with balloons full of craft glitter."

"Yeah. Real scary, Kat."

"Spoken like someone who's never had to touch craft glitter. I guarantee you the person using that locker now is still finding sparkles in their binders."

Dean folded his arms, appraising her. There was still a glint of defiance in her eye, which made him more curious than he cared to admit.

"Okay, I'll bite," he drawled. "Junior year?"

"Balloons, glitter, _and_ I duct taped all of her binders and folders shut. Senior year she was so over it she just skipped school."

"That's lame."

"Oh no, I planned for it," Kat assured him. "It was a Friday, so by the time she came in Monday morning, the birthday breakfast I left in her locker was just a crusty pile of mold and flies."

"Gross," he said appreciatively. "Eggs?"

"Sunny side up, toast with jelly, and a nice tall glass of sour milk."

Dean nodded, impressed. He turned back to the door and peeked around the parking lot before shutting it behind him. Then he pulled out one of the chairs from the window and sat down across from Kat.

"Alright, you've got my attention. Hit me with your resume, Kit Kat."

"Fine." She propped her elbows on her knees, leaning into the challenge. "Glue in Jessica's shampoo."

"Easy," Dean countered. "Tabasco in Sam's toothpaste."

"Water balloons under Jess's comforter."

"Laxatives in Sammy's mac and cheese."

"Gross. Replaced Jess's deodorant with butter. Took her three days to notice."

"Viagra in Sammy's salad dressing. Only took him about an hour to notice."

"Oh my God," Kat gagged. "For real?"

"Yeah, he was not happy," Dean chuckled. "But that—damn that was a good one."

"How about this?" She held up a finger with a dramatic pause. "I convinced Jess that her feet were growing a shoe size a week, and that she was really some kind of freak Bigfoot."

" _What?"_ Dean couldn't help the cackle that burst out from his chest. "You're fucking with me."

"Nope. Genuinely."

"How the hell did you do that?"

"More duct tape," she explained dismissively. "I had to wad it up in the front of her shoes when she was sleeping. Of course, then I had to cover it with fabric so she didn't just reach in and pull it out. She'd get a new pair of shoes with Mom, I'd wait two or three days, and then start padding them up. A week later she'd be freaking out because the shoes didn't fit anymore. So Mom would take her back for new ones and we'd start all over. Took my parents about a month to realize what was going on."

"Damn." Dean let out a low whistle. "You were really in it for the long haul, huh?"

"Probably the most elaborate thing I've pulled off. I had to do Jess's chores for like a month, though. And I didn't get my allowance for three to pay for all the shoes."

Dean sat back in his chair, shaking his head thoughtfully.

"I gotta say, I'm feeling a lot of respect for you right now, Kat. That's some good shit."

"Thank you," she said with a proud smile. "So keep that in mind next time you wanna pull some shit and break into my room."

"Message received." He held up his hands and got to his feet, heading back for the door. "Alright, I'm going back to the drawing board. Just don't tell Sam about this, okay?"

"Obviously. Why would I tell him what we were doing?"

" _We?"_ Dean turned around, wide eyed. "Oh no, no, sweetheart. I work alone."

"What are you, Batman? I wanna mess with him just as badly as you do."

"Sam's my brother," he shot. "Not only can I guarantee you don't want to mess with him as much as I do, but you don't get to."

"Come on, Dean," she pleaded. "The last time I hung out with Sam he told me he was sleeping with a demon and he just forgot to tell me."

"Kat…"

"Which I'm willing to let go," she continued, holding up a hand. "At least, as much as I can manage. But I'm gonna be stuck with you guys for God knows how long, and if I can't get my frustration out in some productive way, I'm going to make both of your lives a living hell."

Dean pouted. He had no doubt that she'd follow through on the threat if necessary. Working with her on the last two cases had been bad enough. He didn't want to see what she was like when she was actively trying to be a bitch. He also wouldn't put it past her to tattle to Sam if he refused to let her in on the joke.

Well. Hopefully having a pair of fresh eyes would be worth something.

"Fine," he sighed. "What did you have in mind?"

Kat positively beamed.

"You got your car keys?" she asked, and he nodded. "Good. Let's hunt down the closest drug store."

She popped up off the bed, peppier than Dean had ever seen her. With a bright smile, she grabbed her phone and her jacket, and flounced out the door. Dean hurried after her, making sure her room was still locked before stepping into the parking lot.

"Yo, we are not drugging my brother," he warned her. "I know what I said about the Viagra, but…"

"Relax, asshole. We're not drugging him. We just need some supplies. And I could do with a six pack."

"Here, here."

They slid into the Impala, and with a kick it rumbled to life. Out of habit Dean reached for the stereo, only for Kat to smack his hand away. Something in him finally snapped.

"You do that again, I'm gonna twist your arm off," he threatened.

Kat didn't even look up as she remarked, "We had a deal."

"No, we had an arrangement. That was when you were riding on one trip. If you're staying long term, that's fine by me, but you play by house rules. Driver picks the music; shotgun shuts his cakehole. Her cakehole. Her…whatever. Capiche?"

Kat pursed her lips, but Dean was unfazed. This was not up for debate anymore. If he didn't get to listen to his music, he was gonna lose his fucking mind.

"Fine," she said, remarkably calm. "How about we compromise?"

"That's not what I…"

"Driver picks the music. Shotgun sets the volume."

It was Dean's turn to stare at her warily. She didn't seem malicious, but with Kat it was always hard to tell. Her face was pretty damn unreadable. He reached for the radio tentatively, but she didn't smack him again. She just watched him expectantly.

"If you turn this down to zero, I will not think that's cute," he informed her.

"Oh no," she said, rolling her eyes, "whatever will I do?"

He huffed, turning on the music. Led Zeppelin filled the car, and he groaned audibly.

"Oh, Baby, it's good to be back."

Kat wrinkled her nose, adjusting the volume. Dean was surprised that she left it as loud as she did. If he concentrated, he could still feel the base in his seat. He looked at her in disbelief, and she shrugged.

"I got used to it at the bar. You gonna drive or not?"

The ride to the drug store was a short one. Everything tended to be pretty close in pit-stop towns like this. The teenage cashier didn't even both to look up when they entered. Just kept flipping through some car catalog full of souped-up rides he'd never be able to afford. Dean flipped the Impala's keys around his finger, prouder than ever.

Kat shooed him off to get the beers, and he wandered to the back of the store. There wasn't a wide selection, but he'd left pickiness behind before he was ten. He grabbed a moderately priced six pack and headed back to the front to wait for Kat. Even though he'd been fast, somehow she'd been faster. She dumped the contents of her arms onto the counter—eight boxes of Double-X condoms.

If Dean was surprised, it was nothing compared to the acne-ridden employee. He gaped openly at Kat, his skin pale as the blood rushed out of his face. His mouth snapped shut when she glared at him. Poor kid seemed to have trouble moving.

"Morning," Dean said brightly. "All together, thanks."

He dropped the six pack next to the condoms and gave the teenager a tight smile, his arms folded over his chest. Sure, he knew it probably made him a dick, but he loved watching the kid squirm. The boy's eyes quickly shot to Dean's face, the muscular arms, the condoms. And he didn't dare look Kat in the eye again.

"Uh, do—do you have a r-rewards card?" he stuttered, staring exclusively at the screen.

"Nope," said Dean.

"Would you like to sign up for one?"

"Nope."

The cashier poked a couple buttons, prompting his machine to emit several loud, harsh beeps. He cursed under his breath, smacking the machine and pounding on the cancel button. Finally, Dean decided to take pity on him.

"Hey, keep the change," he offered, passing over several more bills than was necessary. He waited until Kat had walked away with the bag before leaning over the counter to add, "I'm telling you, man. Best day of the week."

And with a wink, he bounced after Kat.

"So, don't get me wrong," Dean said when they'd gotten back to the motel. "I'm all for condoms and safe sex. And I can appreciate that Sammy needs to get laid. But how is this any less juvenile than tampons?"

"Eh, it's not," Kat admitted. She dumped the bag onto Dean's bed and took a seat without asking. "But tampons are harmless. Condoms at least leave residue, so it'll annoy him more in the long run."

"Huh." He pouted thoughtfully, watching her work on one of the boxes. "Smart."

"Yeah. I um…saw the football players do it once in high school. Smeared them all over his locker, binders, the lock. It was a mess for a week. Can you grab me something of Sam's?"

"Uh, sure. Like what?"

"Something small. Phone, wallet, toothbrush. Something like that."

He glanced around the room. Sam had taken his phone with him, obviously, but the charger was still sitting on the nightstand. He grabbed it and rolled up the cord before passing it to Kat. He plopped down across from her as she grabbed one of the condoms. Eyes fixed on the phone cord, she ripped the package open with her teeth, spitting the corner out and finagling the condom from inside. She pinched the tip, slid the latex through her fingers to unroll it, and wiped the residue on her jeans.

Dean shifted uncomfortably.

"Alright," she continued, oblivious. "So each condom's like a person travel bag for Sam's shit. Phone charger in one, laptop charger in another. Hell, we could probably fit his laptop in one if we're careful. You just have to slide it in slow, tie it off aaand…boom. It's lubed for the next week."

Kat held up her condom balloon with pride, Sam's phone charger nestled snugly inside. Dean smiled weakly.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I love it. Great idea, Kat."

He held his breath, but no luck. Kat instantly picked up on his tone of voice. Her smile vanished, and her eyes shot down to where his hands were folded in his lap.

"Jesus Christ," she scoffed. "Are you serious?"

"Hey, don't look at me! I can't help it."

"You're disgusting."

"I'm sorry! I'm a dude! What do you want from me?"

Kat stood up abruptly, wiping her hands on her jeans and storming for the door.

"I think you can handle the rest of this yourself. Hope you bother Sam half as much as you bother me."

Dean sighed as the door to his motel room slammed. He glared down at his treacherous lap. Apparently, Sam wasn't the only one who needed to get laid.


	39. Chapter 39

"Yeah, we're about five minutes out. Thanks, Bobby."

Sam hung up the phone, which immediately slipped out of his grip. It smacked into the dashboard and clattered to the floor of the Impala. Dean snorted, and Sam didn't have to look behind him to know Kat was smirking in the back seat.

"I hate both of you so much."

"Hey, don't look at me," said Dean. "I didn't touch your phone."

"No, you just touched _everything else_ I own. I'm not gonna be able to hold anything for like a week."

"Relax, Butterfingers," Kat laughed. "You can wash Dean's crap off your shit when we get to Bobby's."

Dean made a vague noise of protest at her word choice, and Sam twisted around in his seat.

"Don't pretend you didn't have anything to do with this! I—I _know_ you had something to do with this!"

"Are you kidding me?" she scoffed. "Like I'd be caught dead in any situation involving your brother and condoms."

Sam pursed his lips. She had a point. Had the two of them been alone with condoms, Sam was sure there was a very low possibility they'd both get out alive. But something in his gut knew that Kat was getting far too much enjoyment from his aggravation to be an innocent bystander.

Without any proof, he huffed and turned back around in his seat.

They pulled up outside Singer Salvage about two minutes later. Dean had sped the entire last leg of the trip, insisting that he'd gotten a 911 text from Bobby. Sam had thought he was making it up at first, desperate to get Kat out of his precious car. But Kat didn't seem to be causing any problems. She was even letting Dean listen to his cassettes without bitching about it. And when he'd finally called Bobby to give him an ETA, the guy had seemed… _off._ Not frantic, necessarily, but definitely tense.

Sam figured it was best to keep the knife on them, just in case.

Bobby's back door swung open the moment Dean killed the engine. He jogged down the steps to meet them, and Sam stepped up to give him a hug. But Bobby blew right passed him and made a beeline for Kat.

"Listen," he said lowly, taking her by the shoulders and ignoring her complaint. "Whatever happens, I need you to know I had nothing to do with this."

"Nothing…what?"

"Yo," Dean called from the driver's side. "Bobby, what the hell is going on?"

Bobby opened his mouth to explain, but at that moment the back door slammed open again.

"Katherine Diana Moore!"

 _"Mom?"_

Grace was thundering down the steps of Bobby's house, looking inexplicably at home. Her flannel shirt was not all that different from Bobby's, and she had her blonde hair pulled up into a careless knot on top of her head. But all of this paled in comparison to the look of fury on her face. She stormed across the yard, wielding a dish towel like a whip in one hand. Sam scrambled out of her way without shame, giving her a clear shot at her daughter.

"You! How dare you! What the hell were you thinking? Are you out of your mind? Katherine Diana you better be out of your goddamn mind! Out of your fucking mind!"

She snapped the towel at Kat with every sentence, smacking her as fast as she could as her face flushed red with rage.

"Ow! Mom, stop! What the fuck?"

"Don't you dare speak to me like that! How dare you! I haven't heard from you in weeks! Weeks! And then you dump all this on me! You hide this from me like some teenager stashing weed under your damn bed, and then I find out we're on the brink of the Apocalypse?"

"Mom, we're not on the…"

"Don't interrupt me! You tell me this over the phone, don't even bother to come home and say it to my face!"

"I couldn't! Cas said…!"

"And there are angels, now! God fucking forbid I have one moment of peace, you call me and tell me there are angels and they are _not_ trying to keep you safe, that they are the ones _keeping_ you away from home and _sending_ you into battles! And you don't even let me know you're alright! I get one bunch of flowers from you so you can say 'hey mom I'm not dead' and then I have to scrounge and scavenge and beg for any scrap of news from another run down hunter?"

"Hey," Bobby said, warning tone clear, but Grace would not be stopped.

"And then you get attacked, and do I get to speak to you? No! No, you just abandon your safe house that you've told me nothing about, and you decide to hit the road without so much as saying a word to me!"

"That's not true," Kat argued back. "I called you two days ago!"

 _"You left a fucking voicemail!"_

"You didn't pick up! You know they could be tracing your calls, and I had to ditch the phone as soon as I called. I told you this!"

"And I'm just supposed to accept it?" Grace demanded. "I'm just supposed to be fine with the fact that you were almost killed by twenty-something demons, _twice_ , and now you're just going to be travelling the country for God knows how long, breaking the law, fighting people and creatures and things that want you dead, that want everything on this planet dead, and not only is it very possible that I will never see you again, but I don't even get to say goodbye? Katherine Diana Moore, don't you dare! Don't you ever dare try to take something like that from me ever again. Because I have lost too much in this life and I will not—I refuse to lose you too!"

Grace smacked Kat with the towel one last time, but it was weak. She was on the verge of tears. Out of words, she threw the towel down into the dirt and yanked her daughter into a bruising hug. Kat hesitated, but gently wrapped her arms around Grace's back. She stroked her shoulders, and though Sam might have been imagining it, her own frame seemed to be shaking too.

He turned away, allowing them as much privacy as he could manage without moving and drawing attention to himself. Bobby looked uncomfortable too, his mouth pulled into a tight line. Dean was the only one still watching, his face frozen in shock. He caught Sam's eye, and in an attempt to lighten the mood, mouthed, _"Mom?"_ He gestured with his hand, looking impressed, and Sam let out a long-suffering sigh.

"I'm still gonna call you," Kat promised, pulling back from her hug. "I'll get a new burner phone every week if I have to."

"That's funny," Grace jabbed, wiping her eyes. "Every day. _Maybe."_

"Well, that's asking a bit much. I would have to hustle a lot of poker games to make that kind of money."

"Oh God," Grace groaned, one hand over her face. "Don't say things like that, Katherine. I do not need to know that you hustle poker."

"What? I needed a pastime at the bar. My friend Jo taught me."

"Bar? Where are you…? Who is Jo?" But before Kat could answer, Grace was always waving her hands. "No, you know what? This can all wait until dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Grace has been cooking all day," Bobby said gruffly. "Got enough food inside for an army."

"Seriously?" Kat gaped. "Mom, how long have you been here? How the hell did you even get here, actually?"

"And what is that supposed to mean? You think you're the only one who knows how to do basic investigative work? I know how to handle myself, Katherine. As soon as I got your message I booked a flight to South Dakota and looked up the salvage yard in the business directory. And then I called a cab, thank you very much."

"Oh my God! Mom, you cannot be serious right now. Why can't you just…?"

"No," Grace said firmly. She snatched the towel off the ground and jabbed a finger into her daughter's chest. "Not another word, Katherine. You're going to go inside, get washed up, and you are going to help me finish this meal."

"Mom, come on, I…"

"Katherine!"

Kat pouted. It did not help that Dean chose this time to let out a low whistle, looking like Christmas had come early. Kat flipped him off, and stamped into the house.

"Well that went well," Bobby said helpfully. He ignored the pointed finger Grace brandished at him, turning back to the boys. "Now you see why I was so damn impatient for you boys to get here."

"Oh yes, Bobby," Grace bit. "You're so funny."

She started toward Sam, who flinched instinctively. But she was only coming in for another hug.

"Sam, it's so good to see you," she sighed, squeezing him tight. "How have you been? Are you alright?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, Grace, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" She pulled away, grabbing his face with both of her hands and tilting him back and forth in the light. "Sweetheart, your eyes look bloodshot. If I didn't know any better I'd say you were some kind of junkie."

Sam's heart jolted violently in his chest. He tried not to look too frantic as he batted her hands away.

"You know, I just uh…I'm not getting a lot of sleep. Running around, motel beds, diner food. Perks of the job, you know?"

"I do know," she said sourly. But she smiled as she patted him on the arm. "Well, you don't have to worry about diner food tonight. I had Bobby drive me to the store. You're all going to have a real cooked meal tonight."

"I think that sounds _divine_."

Sam sighed and turned to look at Dean. He'd joined them on the other side of the Impala, and was all smiles as he stretched a hand out to Kat's mom.

"You must be Grace."

"Dean Winchester," she said, shaking his hand. "I haven't seen you in years. I know you probably don't remember, of course…"

"I'm just glad it's under better circumstances. Marginally." Dean looked her over shamelessly, not yet releasing her. "I can see where Kat and Jess got all their good looks."

Grace considered him for a moment before smirking.

"Kat's right. You are a schmoozer." She took her hand back and tapped him lightly on the cheek. "Well, if you boys could just bring everything inside and get washed up. Dinner should be up within the hour. And someone find my daughter's car keys? I have some packages I want to sneak in there before she goes speeding off again."

With that, Grace flounced into the house, leaving three very baffled hunters in her wake. Dean's nose wrinkled in confusion, his face pulling into an expression of distaste.

"Schmoozer?"

Sam had to grin.

"Oh yeah. This is gonna be a nightmare."

It didn't take long to complete Grace's checklist. Each of them only had a bag or two, and Bobby had been under strict orders not to throw Kat's keys around. He'd kept them on a hook behind some books in the library—someplace Kat wouldn't be likely to check if she'd gotten the mind to ransack his house and take off. They'd washed their hands, and Dean was about to plop down on the couch when Grace poked her head into the living room and ever-so-kindly asked him to set the dinner table instead. He'd grumbled, but Grace had continued to stare at him unnervingly until he complied.

They'd had meals at Bobby's before. They'd even had family dinners before. But Sam was pretty certain he'd never had access to this much food at once. Grace had certainly gone all out. There was turkey and steak, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, corn, carrots, broccoli, cranberry sauce, rolls—anything he could think of. It was like a Rockwell painting on steroids.

"I didn't get to see Kat for Thanksgiving," Grace explained as she was doling out portions of salad. "And I'm willing to bet I won't get visitation on Christmas either. So we'll just have to celebrate everything now."

"Hey, I'm not complaining," Sam laughed.

Across from him, Kat was glaring sourly.

"Oh no," said Dean, waving a hand as Grace reached for his plate. "I don't eat salad."

Again, Grace stared flatly until Dean was shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Dude," Sam whispered. "Just let it go."

"You know, uh salad—salad would actually be great. I do not eat enough vegetables." Dean plastered a smile on his face until Grace had moved over to Bobby, then lowered his voice. "Shit, Kat. I didn't know your death glare was hereditary."

Kat glowered at him until he crumbled once more.

Grace took a seat opposite Bobby at the end of the table. Dean was already moving to serve himself, but Grace cleared her throat before he could.

"I feel like we should say grace."

"God, Mom, can we just get this over with? We never say grace."

"We do on special occasions. And seeing as we're all here together, and I haven't seen you in a while, I think we should pray. Just to make things feel proper."

"Not to be a stick in the mud," said Bobby, "but it's a little hard prayin' when the angels are the ones causing all the trouble."

"Good point," Dean agreed.

Grace sighed, but her daughter cut her off.

"Fine. It's okay. I'll pray." Kat bowed her head and clasped her hands together tight enough to crumble granite. "Hey Castiel. It's Kat. Thank you so, so much for everything you've been doing for us. Especially taking care of my mom. Clearly you've got a top-notch protective detail on her since she was able to hop a plane and fly across the country without anyone trying to stop her, and no one bothered to let us know she was on the move. That definitely couldn't have gone bad in any way, so really, thank you for having my back. I hope you're not still eavesdropping on all the conversations I have, but if you are, I just wanna say I hate you, and you should pop in at the Roadhouse and say hi to Jo. Thanks."

She promptly grabbed the serving fork and stabbed one of the steaks, serving herself without question.

Sam, Dean and Bobby exchanged nervous looks while Grace pursed her lips.

"Katherine, don't be unreasonable…"

"Oh, so when you're upset it's okay to be pissed at the angels, but if I'm upset then I'm being unreasonable. Right. Thanks for clearing that up."

"It's like you said, Kat. The angels are protecting me. If I was really in danger, I'm sure my angelic bodyguard would have stepped in. But he didn't, so I must not be doing anything wrong."

"Yeah, or the angels have bigger things to worry about than following through on their promises."

"Well," Grace said delicately. "I'm sorry you feel that way."

"Me too," said Kat, just as frosty. "Unfortunately, I did just watch two of my friends get possessed and used as bait last week in an attempt to capture me. I think that might be why I'm so on edge."

The Moores were the only ones moving, both women refusing to look at each other as they methodically cut their food into tiny pieces. Sam was too scared to reach for anything, just in case it brought attention to himself. Dean seemed to be thinking the same. He was barely breathing, as if Kat and Grace were T-rexes who wouldn't be able to see him if he didn't move. Bobby was brave enough to clear his throat.

"Hey, Grace, did I see you carrying a couple bottles of wine before? Maybe that'd…I don't know…diffuse the tension?"

It was ballsy, but Grace just smiled politely.

"Thank you, Bobby. I think that'd be a very good idea."

She excused herself to get the alcohol, and Kat continued shredding her steak beyond recognition. Sam very slowly began picking at his salad.

The wine was not an instant fix. They still had a lot of uncomfortable territory to cover over dinner. Kat hadn't properly spoken to her mother since before their case with Anna, and that had been ages ago. Even then, she'd been lying about the work she was doing with the Winchesters. They had to rehash everything she'd told her mother, from the Apocalypse and the seals right through her stay at the Roadhouse with Ellen and Jo.

Grace had plenty of questions. Sam felt like he was back at Stanford, being interviewed before he got into the upper level classes he wanted. Granted, Grace had probably been asking herself the same questions for weeks, every time she came home to an empty apartment without knowing the real reason why. It shouldn't have been too surprising that she'd come prepared with an interrogation strategy.

Whether it was because of the wine or her satisfaction, Grace's questions began to slow down. Sam thought they'd be safe after they'd cleared the recent demon attack and the stake on Kat's life. But Grace just nodded, and poured herself another glass.

"Well, now that we've covered that, I'd like to hear a bit more from you boys."

"Uh, okay," Sam said slowly. "But that's really all we know. Kat's got a better understanding about…"

"Oh, no I understand that perfectly," said Grace, waving a careless hand. "I'll have a long talk with my daughter later about being on the run. But seeing as she's going to be on the road with you two, I really feel like I should know more about you."

Dean laughed nervously.

"Grace, well, uh…I mean, you already know Sam."

"No, Dean, I _thought_ I knew Sam. But really I only knew the selective pieces of information he wanted me to know before I found out the truth about the supernatural. So, really, there's so much to fill in. It seems like we have a lot of catching up to do."

Sam slipped down in his seat. Grace laughed warmly and patted him on the arm. She was smiling, but the edges were sharp—like she was just daring him and Dean to contradict her. If they refused her, every bit of the wrath she'd let out on Kat earlier would be unleashed at the dinner table. And now, they were sitting around knives.

Now it was Kat's turn to grin.

"Yeah, take it away, guys," she said, pouring herself her own hefty glass of wine. "And don't spare us the details."

It was hard. Harder than his conversation with Kat had been when he first visited her back in September. Then he'd just been filling in the gaps, bridging the information that Kat had already found out on her own. Grace was practically asking for their life story over a plate of stuffing. There was a lot of shit to go over—John and Mary, the fire, moving around as kids. They'd had to tell the story of Yellow Eyes over again, and apparently Grace had _not_ been told about Dean's tour of Hell, or that Sam had been dead four nearly forty-eight hours. Now he was sure the wine was getting to her, because Grace cried openly at that. She kept a tight grip on Sam's arm, wiped furiously at her face, even got out of her chair to kiss him and Dean on the head. Dean had clearly been uncomfortable, maybe even more uncomfortable than Kat, who was hiding her face in her hands. But Sam thought it was almost comforting. Most hunters kept their feelings stifled for the job. Sure, he knew Bobby and Dean had cried over his body, but he'd never seen it. It was kind of nice to get some sympathy for a change.

Things got blurry after that. One minute they were talking about how Dean was chosen by God to stop the Apocalypse, the next they were talking about just how long he'd spent on the wrestling team at school. Sam talked about his stint in the mathletes, and Grace talked about Jess's old dance classes. Bobby brought up how Sam and Dean used to fight over the remote whenever John left them at the salvage yard for the week, and then…

"Mom, I'm serious. It's not funny."

"Oh, stop. Of course it is. Anyway, the judges are starting their walk around the gym, and it's finally Kat's turn. And she has her little poster with all her physics equations, momentum and mass and force and all that. So she picks up one of her batons for the demonstration, only she's so focused on her speech that she doesn't even notice that she picked up the wrong one."

"That was not my fault," Kat said adamantly. She had her legs pulled up into her chair, and was hugging her knees to her chest. "That twerp put them back on the wrong pedestal, and it was _not_ where it was supposed to be!"

"Didn't they weigh different?" Sam asked. "Wouldn't you notice something like that?"

"Well, _normally_ yeah I would! But I had like seven teachers in front of me with clipboards, and I was in the middle of talking and I was just freaking out!"

 _"Anyway,"_ Grace interrupted once more, "Kat picks up the wrong baton, and she goes on with the presentation. And as she goes to demonstrate the single toss the whole thing _flies_ out of her hand, completely off course cause the thing was weighted obviously, and _wham!_ It—ha! It hits her poor science teacher directly in the face!"

"It did not!" Dean cackled without shame, beside himself as Kat glowered at him. "That is—That is truly priceless."

"Yes, well," said Grace conspiratorially, ignoring Kat's warning look, "his nose job wasn't."

"Nose job?" Bobby chuckled. "Jesus, Kat, how hard did you hit him?"

"Well, I was trying to launch it into the air, so…I kinda broke his nose." She smiled ruefully. "And that's about the time I traded the batons for pompoms."

There was a clatter as Dean very nearly knocked over his wine glass. He gaped at Kat, who suddenly realized that she had said too much. The blood drained from her face.

"If you say one word…"

"Grace, _please_ tell me there are pictures."

Kat flipped him off, which had absolutely no effect. He beamed, raising his hands and wiggling his fingers at her.

"Oh, and uh, by the way—nice spirit fingers."

"Dude," Sam snorted, "are you seriously quoting _Bring It On_?"

"So? Why do you know that I'm quoting _Bring It On_?"

Sam froze, and clamped his mouth shut. Bobby was still laughing.

"You walked right into that one, boy."

"And I am walking out," Kat announced.

She collected a few of the dirty dishes and retreated to the sink. There wasn't much space she could put between her and the table. She could still hear her mother laughing behind her, urging Sam into some story from his Stanford days. But at least now Kat wouldn't have to participate. She turned on the faucet, and with the fading hum of the alcohol in her brain, she could focus on the sound of the running water and block out everything else.

Kat cleaned most of the dishes on autopilot. She barely noticed when people began stacking their plates next to her and retreating into the living room. The only thing that jolted her to reality was Bobby patting her on the shoulder.

"How you holding up, kid?" he asked lowly.

"Uh, spectacular."

"Yeah, I figured." He leaned back on the counter, folding his arms. "But least she cared enough to come out. Not everyone's got that."

"I know. Still, I'm really sorry. If I'd known she was coming…"

"Then you still wouldn'ta been able to stop her. Ain't exactly a mystery where you got your stubborn streak. Sides, I'm gonna have enough food for a week. I'm not complaining."

Kat grinned and wiped a soapy hand across her forehead.

"I was uh… _wondering_ though…"

"She'll be gone within the hour," Kat promised. "I'm gonna check into a motel for the night, drop her at the airport tomorrow."

"Thank you."

With a curt nod, Bobby grabbed a towel and started drying the clean dishes.

True to her word, Kat had her mother at the front door forty-five minutes later. It would have been sooner, except that her mom was still refusing to give her the car keys. As if Kat had anywhere to run off to, anyway. But after Kat's bags had been loaded into the car—all her fresh clothes and home essentials in the trunk, and enough food for her backseat to be a functioning pantry—after her mother had done a three once overs of the house to make sure she wasn't leaving anything behind, they were finally ready to leave.

"Well I'd say we should do this again sometime," her mom sighed, "but I guess that can't really happen."

"Nah, don't worry," said Dean. "With our track record, we'll have the Apocalypse cleared up by Easter."

"Oh really, your track record? Because I thought Katherine was the only one who'd succeeded in saving a seal."

"She is," Sam assured her with a smile. "We're actually hoping she can teach us a thing or two."

Dean rolled his eyes at the flattery, as did Kat. But her mother just laughed and pulled Sam into a hug.

"Oh, Sam, it was so good to see you. Take care of yourself, alright? No more of this running around on no sleep."

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed, half laughing.

"And Dean," she turned and surprised him with his own hug, "it was wonderful to meet you. Officially anyway."

"Pleasure was all mine, Grace." He winked as he pulled back, making her giggle. Kat glowered, and he quickly cleared his throat. "And I'd tell you how much, but I don't wanna give you daughter another reason to clock me. So, maybe next time."

"Oh, don't worry about her. She's just…well, her bite is just as bad as her bark, but she doesn't use it as often as you'd think."

"Thank you. That's extremely comforting."

She patted him on the cheek again, and turned to Bobby. Bobby tensed, but couldn't stop the hug that she was already trapping him in.

"Bobby, thank you so much. I know I've been a nightmare to deal with, but…"

"Don't worry about it," he said, patting her on the back. "Long as I get more of that sweet potato casserole, you can stop by any time you want."

"Really. It means the world to me to know there's someone I can call."

"You got it, Grace."

She smiled brightly as she released him, and stepped back with her hands folded. Kat desperately grabbed her mother's purse and moved for the door.

"Alright, let's hit the…"

"Actually, I've got one more thing I'd like to say."

"Mom, please don't…"

"No. I know it doesn't necessarily need saying, but it'll ease my conscience, and I'd like to make one thing perfectly clear."

She planted herself in front of Kat, looking from hunter to hunter with a sharp glare.

"I know the three of you deal with a lot. I'm sure I don't know the half of it, and I understand even less. Demons, ghosts, angels now. I can only imagine that it's overwhelming, and you certainly don't get the thanks you deserve for protecting the rest of us from it."

"Well, thanks," said Dean, with an uncertain smile.

"Of course. But all that aside, if anything happens to my daughter, I will not rest until I have hunted down every last one of you. I don't care how long it takes. I don't care what I have to do. But I will not lose another daughter to the bullshit you three deal with. Katherine is my top priority, and I expect you to do everything it takes to keep her safe. Apocalypse be damned. Is that understood?"

Kat had her eyes clenched shut, but she could imagine the looks of surprise and alarm on all three men. They fidgeted uncomfortably under gaze, and one of them cleared their throat. Finally, it was Sam who answered.

"Understood."

"Mom," Kat sighed. "Can we please, please go?"

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry. Really, I want to thank all of you so much. Take good care of her, take good care of yourselves, good luck, and—oh! There's an apple pie in the fridge."

 _"What?"_

Dean shot out of the room, followed by a very exasperated Sam and, with one final nod, a very amused Bobby.

Kat dragged her mother out of the house, slinging her toward the passenger side of the Prius and pressing herself against the driver's door. She laid her head on the roof and breathed a deep sigh of relief.

"Oh my God, I have missed you so much. I am so sorry, Scotty. I hope Bobby's been taking good care of you."

"I'm sure he's fine," her mother assured her, sliding into the front seat. "He's a sturdy car."

Kat sank into her seat, her head lolling on the headrest and hands caressing the steering wheel. She turned on the stereo, and Michelle Branch hummed through the speakers at once. It actually made her giggle, and she clasped her hands under her chin.

"Should I leave you alone?" her mom asked.

"I am just so glad to have my own wheels. No more back seat, no more low ceilings, no more cassette tapes, no more classic rock."

She turned up the stereo, and pulled out of the lot.

"Alright, so I'm not sure where the closest motel is, but I figured we can…"

"I've already got directions," her mother interrupted. She pulled a packet of papers from her purse, unfolding them in her lap. "I looked up a few options before I caught my flight. Bobby's been wonderful, but I wasn't going to stay there forever."

"How long did you stay there?" Kat asked curiously.

"Just last night. I got in yesterday, by some miracle, called a taxi and showed up on his doorstep in the afternoon. I told him I was not leaving until I'd spoken to you, and I knew you'd be on your way for the car. He tried to let me sleep upstairs, but I told him to cram it and stayed on the couch. I didn't want to risk missing you."

"Geez, Mom." Kat smiled slyly. "You know for someone who complains about rundown hunters so often, you've certainly got a type."

"That is not funny, Katherine."

"Hey, I'm just saying."

She could feel her mother's glare on her as she drove. She could also feel the defiance, which was why she wasn't altogether surprised by the turn in conversation.

"Dean is much more handsome than you'd let on," her mother said airily. "I remembered him being something of a lady's man, but it's no wonder with a face like that."

"Gross, Mom."

"I'm just saying. You know, with Sam, I get it. After Jessica, that would be understandable. But Dean seems…"

"Like a nightmare," Kat said firmly. "You cannot be serious right now."

"Well, what's wrong with him?"

"You mean besides the fact that he's a wanted criminal, a narcissist, and an alcoholic with enough trauma kill a whale?"

"Katherine, that doesn't make any sense. Besides, you've got your fair share of baggage. We all do."

"Oh, so you're telling me you don't remember what happened at Jess's funeral?"

"Of course I remember," her mother scoffed. "I just think you were vastly overreacting."

"I—Overreacting? He was…"

"He was making a joke. He just wanted to lighten the mood."

"And in what universe is lightening the mood at a stranger's funeral considered socially acceptable?"

"It was three years ago, Katherine," her mother said sternly. "And the man has literally been through Hell since. You have got to let it go."

"I have! I just…"

She pouted, strangling the wheel. Her mother's knowing gaze didn't help matters.

"Haven't," she finished for her, turning back to the hotel directions in her lap.

"Shut up."

They got a room for two at the second closest hotel on the list. It was also the most expensive. Her mother had wordlessly insisted on paying, which was both frustrating and touching. Sure, it wasn't like they were ordering a thousand dollars in room service, but Kat still liked to pay her way when she could. Still, she knew it was supposed to be a nice gesture—a sendoff before she went back to roadside places that charged by the hour and only had one kind of soda left in the vending machine. So Kat kept her mouth shut and followed her mother up to their room.

It might not have been so bad, except at some point they'd just stopped speaking to each other. They moved around the room in tense silence, unpacking their essentials without so much as looking at each other. The only time Kat spoke was to announce she was going to take a shower. Her mother had just hummed, already curled up on her bed with her reading glasses.

Kat took her sweet time in the shower. She knew it would be a long-ass time before she took one as nice again. There was enough hot water, good water pressure. Nothing like the some of the motor lodges she'd stayed in on long hunts. There was nowhere to be, and all the world to avoid. So she enjoyed every second she could until she couldn't think of any other ways to procrastinate. Then she toweled her hair dry and peeked out into the bedroom.

Her mother hadn't moved. She was still sitting on the bed, reading glasses perched on her nose as she stared down at one of her self-help books. Her fingers picked at the edges of the page, but her eyes weren't moving. She didn't even look up when Kat sat down on the bed across from her.

"Okay. How long are you gonna stay mad at me?"

"I'm not mad."

"Right," Kat scoffed. "We both know that's a crock of shit."

"Don't you talk to me like that," she snapped, finally looking up from her book. "You do not get to tell me how I feel, Katherine. Don't assume something you know nothing about."

"Well what am I supposed to think? You're giving me the cold shoulder, reading your therapy books. You're pissed I'm leaving again and you don't want to talk about it because you know you're not gonna change my mind. So I get that you're mad I just…don't know what you expect me to do about it."

She held her breath as her mother considered her. It was always hard to gauge what was going on in her head. Kat knew exactly where she'd gotten her poker face, and it was times like this that she understood everyone's frustration with how hard she was to read. But rather than snapping again, her mom sighed, and folded up her glasses.

"I'm not mad," she said, her voice gentler but still tense. "I'm upset, obviously. This whole thing is…ridiculous. But I'm not upset with you. If anything, I think I'm upset with myself."

"Why?"

It was a few seconds before her mother was ready to answer.

"I don't understand you, Katherine. Sometimes I feel like I haven't understood you for a long time, and it makes me feel like I'm failing as a parent. You're my daughter, for God's sake. If I can't figure out what you're thinking, then what hope is there for me?"

"Mom…"

"No, let me finish. You—You always know what you want to do. Like everything is black and white, and it couldn't be more obvious what's right and what's wrong. So you say these things to me—that you have to do something, that you have to start this business, that you have to leave—and I…I just don't know why. I don't think the way you do. And I can't read your mind, and you seem to hate talking to me. I just get so frustrated because I _want_ to understand you, and at times like this…I feel like I don't have time to. Like I'm too late."

Kat watched her mother press her face into her hands, but she'd already caught sight of the tears welling in her eyes. She'd always known that leaving her mom behind was going to be difficult. That was part of the reason she'd left it at a voicemail. It was easier to deal with than the emotions and the judgment and the anger. But she hadn't realized just how much damage she was doing by ignoring the problem.

She climbed across the bed to her mom, curling up against her side. Her mother was already muttering about how she was being silly, but Kat waited until she'd gotten her eyes back under control before she spoke.

"I'm sorry, Mom."

"No, don't apologize," her mother said, shaking her head. "You're just doing what you think is right. And I know I sound ridiculous asking you to just _let_ the Apocalypse happen because I want you to stay home. I'm the one being selfish. You're only trying to save the world."

"Mom, that's…that's not why I'm going."

Her mother looked at her perplexed, and Kat chewed on her lip.

"When Castiel first told me that I couldn't go home because the demons were coming after me, I was…livid. The only thing I wanted to do was come home to you. I figured I'd give up hunting, whatever, so long as I could come back. And when he tried to tell me that coming home would put a target on your back, I didn't believe him. But now, I get it.

"I only lived at the Roadhouse for a few weeks, but they still found me. And it was way too easy for them to lure us out. I had to watch demons possess my friends because there was something they wanted me to do. And I had to fight them, fight my friends, and the whole time I was just…I was praying the demons wouldn't change their minds and just slit their throats. Or that I wouldn't slip up and hurt them myself. That's why I left the safe house, and that's why I'm not going back to one. That's why I can't come home. Because if that…if that happened to you…I could never live with myself."

"Oh, sweetheart." Kat's mom tugged her to her side, running her fingers through her damp hair. "It's my job to worry about you."

"No, it's not. We take care of each other, right? Cause we're all we've got."

Her mother pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Kat savored the feeling. It made her feel like she was back in middle school, somehow in the best way possible.

"Why do we do this?" she mumbled, leaning into her mother's hug. "Doing this to each other?"

"I don't know, baby."

"What does the book say?"

"This?" Her mom laughed, picking the book up from her nightstand again. "Probably that we're both so worried about losing each other that we're…afraid to face our problems. Like the both of us are so desperate to appreciate the time we have that we can't admit that we wasted any of it being upset with each other. So when we are upset, we just ignore it, and hope that it goes away."

Kat wrinkled her nose.

"That's stupid."

"Yeah, I guess it is," her mother chuckled. "But I guess the takeaway is that we have to be better about accepting things as they are. Even if we're wrong."

"I don't like that. That's stupid too."

She was jolted from her comfortable position when her mother laughed. Her whole body shook, and then Kat was laughing too. She giggled at her mother's loud cackle, and neither of them resurfaced for several minutes.

Kat grabbed at her mom's hand, lacing their fingers together as she finally managed to get some air back into her lungs.

"I'm sorry," she said breathlessly. "I am. I'll try and call you more often, and let you know how I'm doing and what I'm thinking. I'll be better."

"And so will I," her mom replied. "I will try not to hold it against you that saving the world means not being at home, and that you can't always be on the phone to let me know where you are. But I'm not going to apologize for wanting you to be happy and safe."

"Good. Cause neither am I."

Kat pulled the blankets up over her legs and curled up next to her mother. She didn't want to think about how long she might be gone for. It might take forever to prevent the Apocalypse. She might be on the road for the rest of her life. Or maybe they wouldn't be able to prevent it at all. The world would go up in flames and this would be the last time she'd ever see her.

But Kat didn't have any control over that. She just had to accept things the way they were. And if she was leaving in the morning, she wanted to make the most of the time she had now.

* * *

 **A/N:** And so ends Act I. Thank you so much to everyone for sticking with me on this journey. I'm going to take a short hiatus so I can finish writing season four before I start publishing again. The new chapters will be published in the same place, so you have nothing to do except wait for my next notification.

EDIT: Gospel of the Chosen will return January 24, 2020! Less than ten days! In the meantime, check out _Prank War -_ a one shot series that loosely takes place between Acts I and II. Or you can check out my Stranger Things story, _Inside Out_ , which will be wrapping up this month.

See you soon!

-Brittney


	40. Chapter 40

Truman High School was about half the size of Kat's school in California. There had been so many people in her grade, she'd hardly known a fraction of them. But Truman seemed to be one of those schools where everyone knew everyone. That wasn't ideal for undercover work. Every new person stuck out like a sore thumb. Or in their case, three.

And yet, small as the school was, Kat was willing to bet that her school had never had this many students in the nurse's office.

"What on earth is going on around here?" Nurse Hannigan demanded as an eighth student walked in sporting a bloody nose. "Go ahead and take a seat, Colby. Louise has the tissues."

"This is ridiculous." Kat sighed, straightening her skirt as she stood up from her desk. At least, it was temporarily her desk while Nurse Rally was out on maternity leave. "I'm going down there to talk to him."

"Oh, I wouldn't bother, dear. It's best to just wait it out. These people are notoriously difficult to deal with."

"Yeah, I'm gonna deal with him alright."

Her new coworker protested weakly, but Kat was already storming out of the room.

It was a feeble case at best. To be honest, Kat wasn't sure why they'd taken it. One bullied girl drowning a cheerleader in the bathroom and then saying she hadn't meant to didn't seem all that compelling to her. But Sam had been all for checking it out anyway, just to be sure. Dean had played right along, and since they were effectively her bodyguards now, Kat had no other choice.

That was one reason she was already in a bad fucking mood. No one wanted to relive high school less than she did.

Her high heels clicked powerfully as she marched down the hallways. The sound made a couple of freshmen loitering by the water fountain scatter. But she didn't plan on stopping to reprimand students. She did not stop until she'd reached the gymnasium.

A wave of bitter nostalgia hit her as soon as she was through the doors. All gyms looked the same she supposed, but there was something about the squeak of sneakers on polished wood floors that always made her gut clench. She tried to stay focused, scanning the room for a teacher, and stopped dead as soon as she'd found him.

Kat hadn't gotten the pleasure of seeing Dean before they'd left for work. Her Prius was far less conspicuous than Dean's car, so she'd been the one up six in the morning to drive Sam the Janitor to school. She'd gotten herself ready, swung by a coffee house for breakfast, and been back on campus before school started at 9:05. Dean had slept in, because Truman High School did not run gym class until second period.

She hadn't expected him to get so into it. On the other hand, part of her wasn't surprised to find Dean in his element bossing around a bunch of teenagers. Back to the wall, he was refereeing a brutal game of dodgeball. As much as you could referee dodgeball anyway. It didn't look like anyone was keeping score. Dean just kept his eyes on the hoard of students and blew his whistle whenever he saw someone get hit. Then they'd take a lap, or head straight to the nurse's office.

No, it wasn't his enthusiasm that caught her off guard. It was his dumbass uniform. He had a school printed polo, striped tube socks, and a sweatband—like he'd just walked out of some corny eighties movie. But the shorts took the cake. Even in her worst nightmares Kat wouldn't have imagined Dean in shorts that tight.

He didn't seem to notice her revulsion. The moment he saw her walk through the doors his face lit up. He abandoned his post, and Kat had about five seconds to brace herself before it started.

"Come on," Dean groaned when he was within earshot. "No lil' nurse costume? If I can't sing 'Hot for Teacher' you could at least make it worth my while."

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. But there wasn't much she could do in a room full of school children. She gritted her teeth, mentally repeating the mantra her mother had left her with.

 _"God grant me the serenity to accept what I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."_

She gave Dean a tight smile.

"I think I'll leave the outfits to you," she said, giving him another once over. "Nice plum huggers."

"They're sick, right?" Dean beamed with pride, looking down at his shiny new sneakers. "And they just give 'em away to everyone in the athletics department."

Kat was too overwhelmed by pity to correct him.

"And," he added holding up his whistle, "watch this!"

He stuck it between his teeth, letting out a long blast that made even Kat jump. Everyone in the gym froze, the only sound the abandoned balls dribbling and rolling across the floor.

"Half-time!" Dean bellowed to his class. "Everyone take a lap. Finish first and the stragglers are fair game!"

The effect was immediate. Jocks and nerds alike tripped over themselves to make it to the front of the herd, half fueled by bloodlust, half by fear. Dean couldn't have looked prouder. Kat watched him disparagingly.

"People like you are the reason no one trusts authority figures."

Dean huffed, grumpily dropping his whistle once more.

"Whatever. You come all the way down here just to rain on my parade, or do you actually have something to say?"

"I do, as a matter of fact. I have a ton of kids in the nurse's office with bloody noses. Like, a scary amount of kids."

"You think it's related to the case?"

"No," she deadpanned. "No, I don't."

To punctuate this, one of the seniors helpfully pegged his friend in the ankle. The other boy lost his footing, falling forward and slamming face-first into the ground. Kat and Dean winced in unison, watching as the boy limped out of the gym with his hands over his face.

"Hey, good hustle, Johnson," Dean commended. "Get some ice. Keep it up."

"Dean, I'm serious," Kat sighed. "You can't..."

"Hey, that's Substitute Coach Roth to you," he corrected. "I'm not letting you compromise the integrity of this case."

Kat saw red.

"Alright Substitute Coach Roth," she growled. She took a step forward, jabbing a nail into his chest. "As a certified educator of the state of Indiana, I'm sure that you're extremely familiar with Fairfax County's curriculum restrictions. Yes?"

"Uh...yes," Dean said nervously. "Of course, Nurse Fletcher."

"Good. Then I'm sure you're aware that this district has prohibited dodgeball in physical education classes."

"If they don't want the kids to play dodgeball," Dean said, picking one of the stray balls from the floor, "then why do they stock dodgeballs?"

"They're for kickball, dumbass. So scrap your syllabus and start over. If I get one more kid with a bloody nose in my office, we're sending someone to shadow your classes."

Dean's pout slowly spread into a mischievous grin.

"Is that so?"

Later, she'd realized she was being idiotic. There was no excuse for her to be surprised when the ninth student wandered in for tissues, head tilted back so his blood wouldn't drip on the floor. Kat listened to him stumble into a seat, and let her face fall into her hands.

"Goodness gracious," Nurse Hannigan declared, breaking three more tissue boxes out from the supply closet. "Chester, what happened to you?"

"Dahs-bahl," Chester answered nasally. "Coach Roth waz giffing a dehmonstration and he gaht me in tha nose."

"For heaven's sake! What does he think he's doing down there? I thought you said you went down there to warn him, Fletcher!"

"Yeah, I did," Kat groaned. She did not have the strength to lift her head. "I think that's actually part of the problem."

"Oh...? Oh!" The woman laughed, which was not particularly comforting. She patted the edge of Kat's desk and lowered her voice consolingly. "Well, don't look too glum dear. At least Coach Roth's a looker."

"Margot!"

"Please, I'm married, not dead. Go on down there and see if you can knock some sense into him. At least handle some of the minor injuries, if you can. The cots are about to overflow down here."

So, armed with a first aid kit of cotton balls and band aids, Kat trudged back down to the gymnasium. There was a new batch of students, still playing dodgeball, still running laps. Whatever restrictions the school district might've had it place, it was going to take a higher power than the Truman High PTA to scare Dean Winchester into submission.

Dean was waiting for her smugly, his feet kicked up on a folding chair.

"I cannot believe you assaulted a minor to get me down here," Kat complained, swatting him with her go bag.

"Hey, that one deserved it," he chuckled. "He was a bully—total ball hog."

"Yeah, well it takes one to know one."

"Excuse me, I'll have you know I never even attended gym in high school."

"Right," said Kat with an eye roll. "The criminal."

"Oh, let me guess, Molly Ringwald—the princess?" When Kat didn't answer him, his head snapped up. Again, his leer was spreading. "Oh yeah, I forgot. You really were Little Miss Pep Rally, weren't you?"

"Dean, it's not funny."

"It's a little bit funny," he said happily. "You know, that reminds me. They actually _asked me_ to oversee cheerleading practice after school. Can you believe that?"

"I wouldn't worry. I'm planning on talking to the principal and making it very clear that you're not allowed to be within a hundred yards of a school."

"Very funny. Or instead you could—hey!" Dean blasted his whistle again, waving a warning hand at some of the boys fooling around in the corner. "Don't think I didn't see that, Peters! I put you on blue team for a reason! You wanna mess with someone, you mess with each other. No ganging up!"

"You actually put them on teams?" Kat asked, surveying the mass of children. Upon closer inspection, it did seem a little more organized than the previous period.

"Tried to, anyway. Figured it'd make it fairer, but the little bastards keep switching. Anyway, I was thinking maybe you could come with me."

Kat blinked down at him.

"Excuse me?"

"To cheer practice," he elaborated. "I mean they just need an advisor there to make sure the girls aren't painting each other's nails or whatever, but I don't know shit about backflips and round-offs. So what'dya say? Wanna relive the glory days?"

Dean looked up at her, and he almost managed to look innocent. Then Kat yanked the chair out from under his feet, and he lurched forward with an unmanly squawk. It took all of her self-control not to throttle him, not to scream and punch until she'd gotten rid of frantic, panicked feeling that was clawing the inside of her ribs.

"No dodgeball," she said tersely. "Enough."

She folded the chair against her side and marched away before he could say anything else.

The rest of the period could have been worse. Dean regrouped the students, and actually started reffing the game instead of sitting back to watch the chaos. Crazily enough, under constant supervision there were less staggering injuries. Kat set up a few students on the bleachers with ice packs and bandages, but there were no more bloody noses. Even the meanest jocks weren't brave enough to peg someone in the face with two teachers watching.

Five minutes to the end of the period, Dean sent the kids to hit the showers. Kat packed up her things as fast as she could. If she finished before he did, she might get out without another confrontation. But she should have known better. Dean made no move to pack up any of the stray dodgeballs. He strolled straight for her spot on the bleachers.

"You know," he said, tossing one of the balls between his hands, "I still think it's dumb that the only one of us trained to work in a gym didn't take the gym teacher slot."

"Yeah, well the only other position was nurse, and you weren't going to do anyone any favors down there."

"What is that supposed to mean? All you've gotta do is slap a few band aids on 'em, send 'em back to class."

Kat snorted, shaking her head.

"I don't think there are words to describe how happy I am that you don't actually work in public education."

"I'm just saying," he said with a smile. "I kinda wanted a chance to see you in action."

"Dean, you've seen me in action. I've kicked your ass in action."

"I meant teaching," he corrected sourly. "Sam says you're pretty good."

"Well, I'm flattered. But I'm trained to teach women, not sixteen-year-old gremlins."

She closed her first aid kit with finality, brushed herself off, and headed for the door. She almost made it too. And then with a resounding _thwack_ , one of the dodgeballs slammed into her back.

Kat whirled around, but Dean was staring innocently at the ceiling, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Okay, I know you did not just fucking do that."

"Do what?"

"What are you, seven? Knock it off, Dean."

"Come on, Kat," he laughed, picking another ball from the floor. "Live a little! How about a little one on one?"

"You've gotta be kidding me." She glared at him, but his happy little smile never faltered. "Dean, you're wearing sneakers. I'm in a dress and three inch heels."

"Talking dirty ain't gonna get you out of this," he said with a wink. "Come on. Don't pretend like throwing something at me isn't gonna make you feel better."

He bounced the ball to her, and Kat caught it with surprise. Dean stepped back, his arms held out wide, making himself as big of a target as he could. He was being one hundred percent serious.

Kat considered him for a moment, then dropped the ball back to the ground.

"Geez," Dean groaned. "You're such a party pooper."

She waited until he'd turned around to pick up the rest of the balls. Then, with surprising accuracy, she kicked the ball and sent it rocketing into the back of his thigh. Dean yelped, grabbing his ass, and Kat couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"I told you," she managed through her giggles. "They're for kickball."

"That was cheap," he grumbled. "If you wanna play like that…"

He slung another ball at her, and Kat only just managed to side step it without tripping over her heels.

"Hey! I am not playing this game with you. Maybe you have the period off, but some of us have work to do. So I'm going to go back to my office, and next time you have a class, you are not going to play dodgeball. End of story."

She made a second attempt to leave, only for Dean's voice to stop her dead in her tracks.

"Oh yeah? Make me."

"Excuse me?" said Kat, turning back to glare at him.

"One on one." He rotated the ball in his hand, goading her. "We'll make a little competition out of it. First one to land a hit wins."

"Of course," Kat sighed. "Cause you're always looking for something. What exactly do you expect to get from…?"

"Nurse outfit."

She glowered at him.

"You know, for someone so worried about the _integrity_ of the mission, it's great that you don't think it would be weird for the school nurse to wear slutty scrubs."

"Hey, _I_ did not say slutty. You filled in the blanks."

"Forget it, Dean."

This time the ball collided with her shins, too quick for her to even turn around. Kat's jaw clenched. She was not going to let him trick her into this. She was not going to let him piss her off until she gave in.

"Alright, we'll compromise," he offered. "No nurse costume. But if I hit you, you have to go undercover next case. You go all out—costume, fake name, the works. And if you hit me, I'll end dodgeball."

"No way," Kat laughed. "Are you insane? You don't get to trade child abuse for public humiliation. That is not an even deal at all."

"Okay. Then tell me what you want."

Dean bounced the ball to her again. Kat spun it between her hands, testing the weight. The only thing she wanted from Dean Winchester was silence, but she knew that was a tall order. Even if she could come up with something good, she knew there was a good chance he wouldn't give it to her. He'd find some loophole and weasel out—that was just what Winchesters did. Yes, the smart thing to do would be to drop the ball and walk away now. He'd rag on her for the rest of the week, but he'd eventually find something else to obsess over. Better that than risk losing.

Kat liked to think that she was smart. But she was also proud.

"Hey, it's okay, Kat," Dean said with a placating grin. "No shame in walking away from a fight you can't win."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" she challenged.

"Nothing, nothing. Like you said—you're in heels, I'm in sneakers. And maybe you're trained in self-defense, but on offense...I think we both know who'd come out on top."

It was playing right into his hands. But Kat maintained eye contact as she kicked off her heels and chose a ball from the gymnasium floor.

"I want to pick all the music in your car for a month."

"What? You don't even ride in the Impala."

"I know."

Dean considered her, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He tipped his head to the side in ascent.

"Alright. So, to recap…"

"If you hit me first, I will go undercover on the next case. Assuming, of course, that the case calls for it."

"Of course. With costume, or no deal."

"Fine. And if I peg you, you end dodgeball _and_ I'm in control of your music for a month. And I will make sure Sam's enforcing that."

"Wait…" Dean's face twitched and he held up a hand. "What did you say?"

"Please. You think I'm dumb enough to _trust you_ to listen to me? I'll make sure Sam knows to…"

"No, before that. The—The first part."

"I said, if I peg you, no more dodgeball, and I get to pick your music."

"I can't—sorry. Gyms, you know—the echo—one more time?"

"Jesus, I said _if I peg you…"_ She watched his face twitch again, his body shaking with barely contained laughter, and realized her mistake too late. "Oh my God, you're disgusting."

"Ha! Hit me with it, Tinkerbell."

Kat would've walked out of the gym just for that, but Dean chucked another ball at her before she could make a getaway. She yelped and dodged it, spun and barely shirked the second. There was nothing left but to fight back.

It was hardly a minute before Kat realized she had broken her own personal rule—never underestimate your opponent. The Dean she'd been prepared to fight was the one she had taken down on the highway months ago, the Dean who had fallen on his ass trying to pick the lock on her motel room. But that was Dean caught off guard. This was Dean on his game. And while he might have been a narcissistic asshole, it didn't change the fact that he was an experienced fighter, and that he was damn fast. Kat was probably faster—but that was when she wasn't dressed in a pencil skirt.

The ball collided with her leg with a resounding _thwack_ , so forceful that she nearly toppled over. She cursed loudly, waving her arms to regain her balance. But Dean didn't offer her any kind of consolation or support. He was already jumping in the air, his joyful whoops echoing around the gym as he fist-pumped his victory.

"Ha ha! Yes! Oh, God, your _face!_ Holy _shit,_ that was satisfying."

"Ow! What the fuck, Dean?"

"Oh, man. One point, Coach Roth. Zero to the hack-job school nurse."

"Asshole," Kat grumbled. She rubbed sorely at her thigh. "You didn't have to launch it at me."

"What was that? Sorry, I uh—I couldn't hear you over how awesome I am."

"Try not to gloat too much," she said, rolling her eyes and slipping her shoes back on. "It wasn't exactly a fair game."

"Hey, you agreed to play." He smiled at her with expression that oozed smugness from every pore. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I might not even make you wear fishnets."

Kat wasn't sure if she turned white or red faster. She chucked the closest ball at Dean, seething as he dodged and cackled.

"No fucking way, Winchester. I told you, undercover, if the case calls for it. That means…"

"Jeez, I know what it means, Kat. Will you relax? I'm just yanking your chain."

She huffed, aiming another half-hearted kick at the dodgeballs on the floor. Before Dean could retaliate, the phone on the wall of the gymnasium began to ring. He moved to answer it, and pinned the receiver between his ear and shoulder.

"Truman Gymnasium, Home of the Bombers, this is Substitute Coach Roth."

Kat flipped him off, prompting Dean to stick his tongue out at her. However, his face quickly dropped. Whatever the phone call was about, it left him with a decidedly stony expression.

"Yes, ma'am. Absolutely." He hung up, and turned back to Kat gravely. "Home ec. We gotta go, now."

"What happened?"

"Jock just lost his hand in a food processor."

The urgency with which he bolted for the door told her everything she needed to know. She'd have to apologize to Sam for doubting him. Mentally, anyway.

The closer they got to the home ec wing, the more crowded the hallways became. People were whispering and shouting in confusion, trying to figure out what was going on. There was an air of concern, but mostly of excitement. Students and teachers alike were hovering like flies over a carcass.

"Hey, everyone back to their classrooms!" Dean bellowed. "Nothing to see here! Back to your classrooms and wait for instructions!"

"Guys?"

Sam's head was sticking out of a classroom a few doors down. He looked stricken, and waved frantically for their assistance.

"Go," Dean instructed, nodding to her. "I'll take crowd control. You go…nurse, or whatever."

Kat shoved her way through the crowd, following Sam into the hastily abandoned classroom. It was a wreck, to say the least. Deserted workstations were covered in dripping eggs and bits of celery, one or two splattered with fresh blood. Kat followed the trail from the door to a table in the middle of the room. The food processor was washed with scarlet. Kat was thankful someone had turned it off at least—she could still see bits of flesh and bone inside.

"Hey, gimme a hand?"

Sam waved to her from the floor, where he was crouching over a body. It was a student, apparently unconscious and absolutely drenched in blood. Kat braced herself, but this one seemed to have all his fingers intact.

"This the kid that did it?" she asked, kneeling down on his other side.

"Yeah, just like last time," Sam confirmed. "I was just outside, came in as everyone was running out. Kid looked like he was in a trance, just collapsed and asked me what happened. Then he passed out."

"Maybe he wasn't a fan of the blood."

"Makes two of us. But look at this."

Sam tilted the boy's head, turning his ear into the light. A thick, black substance was oozing out, pooling on the white tile below.

"God, please tell me you know what that shit is," Kat pleaded, wrinkling her nose.

"Yeah. It's ectoplasm."

" _Excuse me?"_ Kat gaped at him, both horrified and exasperated. "What, are we the fucking Ghostbusters now?"

"It's rare, but really powerful ghosts have been known to produce it. And there's enough lore on spirits taking on a host when want to interact with the physical world."

"So what? It's strong enough to produce ectoplasm but not strong enough to kill its own victims?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's trying to keep a low profile?"

"Right," Kat scoffed, glancing around at the bloodstained tables. "This is real low key."

"Either way, this explains the girl's story. No sulfur, no smoke, cause there's no demon."

"So what do we do now?"

"Regroup, I guess. Start working it like a normal ghost case. Check death records, school history…"

His sentence was cut off by yelling in the hallway. Two security guards marched into the room, zeroing in on Kat and Sam almost instantly.

"Got him," one of them said into his radio. "We'll bring him down now."

"Miss, if you'll step back," said the other guard.

He swept her out of the way before she could think to argue. The first guard had pushed Sam aside and was already rolling the teen onto his stomach, yanking his arms behind his back.

"Hey!" Kat shouted, beating at the guard that was holding her back. "What the hell do you think you're doing? That's a student!"

"Yes ma'am," the first guard agreed, still shoving the boy's body. "A student that just chopped off the hand of another student. He's a danger to himself and others."

"And he's still a student!"

Both men ignored her. Frustrated, she sharply brought her elbow down over the arm that was holding her back, making the man yelp in pain. She rushed forward, batting the others out of her way and checking the boy again.

"Miss," the first guard complained, "if you're not going to cooperate…"

"You mean let you manhandle teenagers?" she snapped. "Look at him. He's not resisting. He's unconscious, because he fainted and he might have a concussion. He might have been drugged, he might be dying, he might be faking, but until we know for sure, it's my job to make sure these kids stay healthy and safe. Get the picture?"

He considered her grumpily. His eyes flicked over her shoulder to his coworker, looking for some kind of back up. But judging by the sounds he was making, the other guard was still cradling his arm.

"Fine," the guard huffed, dropping his gaze. "But don't come crying to me when you lose your ring finger."

Kat restrained herself from swinging again.

"You can _gently_ carry him to nurse's office. I'm sure the authorities will have their own questions for him, but I'd like to assess his condition before he goes anywhere."

The man rolled his eyes at her, but was careful as he picked the boy up from the floor. He nudged his partner out of the room first, and Kat hesitated a moment before following them. She turned back to Sam.

"Okay, I'm just gonna make sure they don't kill this kid before he gets to an ambulance. I'll try and keep it short so I can meet you guys back at the motel and…"

"No, you should probably stay down there. Dean and I got this under control."

"Yeah, but I…"

"…am undercover," Sam finished firmly. "Remember?"

Kat groaned, squeezing her head in her hands.

"Jesus Christ. Have I mentioned how much I hate the way you guys work cases?"

"Uh, yeah," he chuckled. "Only about a hundred times."

"Well make it a hundred and one. There is no reason all three of us should be undercover right now."

"I know. But you were the only one qualified for the nurse vacancy, and that gets us easier access to the school records. I can go just about anywhere as a janitor, and Dean…"

"Just wanted to play dress up."

Sam withered, but tilted his head in agreement.

"At least he's out of your way?" he suggested hopefully.

"Right. And he gets to play dodgeball while the rest of us work. Whatever." Kat shook her head as she headed out of the classroom, calling back to Sam over her shoulder. "Just do me a favor and get a picture of him in those shorts? I wanna send that shit to Jo."

* * *

 **A/N:** Boy is it good to be back! I'm really excited to share the second phase of this story with all of you. Hopefully there are still enough people interested in sticking around. I promise, the second half of season 4 has some real gems.

As usually, I just want to recap some house keeping. Today's return chapter is a special posting for Dean's birthday! Happy Birthday Dean Winchester! This story will continue to update on Tuesdays, which means you can expect Chapter 41 in just a few short days. If you're interested in seeing the trailer I made, and what Act II has in store, please check out the story's tumblr blog at gospelofthechosen.

Thank you all so much for reading, and sticking with Kat all this time. Can't wait to hear from all of you again!

-Brittney


	41. Chapter 41

Something was wrong. He didn't have to be a genius to figure that out. Hell, he didn't even need to be Sam's brother. Anyone could have looked at the guy and noticed something was up. But Dean didn't know what he could say, so he kept his mouth shut.

It had been like this for hours. School had been a nightmare—even more so than he'd remembered. And that was before the ghost attack. After, he had to shuttle a hundred kids into the auditorium for some emergency group therapy talk, stop them from fucking around, shove them back into classrooms, and then start all over again with the next batch.

Anyone who stuck around in public schooling was probably some kinda saint. Or masochist.

When Kat had sent over the reports she'd hacked from the district database, Dean had been relieved. Scratch that. He'd been fucking elated. All those years the school had been open and only one kid had died on campus? In the same bathroom the first attack had been in? Awesome. Case open, case closed.

Sam hadn't taken the news quite so well.

It wasn't even a surprise that he'd known the kid. They couldn't go anywhere these days without some miraculous coincidence trying to tell them they were on the right path. Dean felt for his brother, he did. At the same time, it was hard to see the whole thing as anything but an unsettling inconvenience. Every day it felt like the world was getting smaller. Like they weren't in control. Dean hated it.

The ride to the cemetery was quiet. So was the walk to the gravesite. Kat had opted to hang back with the cars, keeping a lookout for any caretakers or passersby. Dean tried to give her shit for avoiding manual labor, but Sam just walked wordlessly toward the graves. Avoiding Kat's curious look, Dean trudged after him.

"You ready for this?" Dean finally asked, after hours of digging.

Sam avoided his gaze. He leaned down to the headstone, brushing some stray dirt away from the name _Barry Cook._

"Yeah," he said weakly. "Let's do it."

Dean hung back. He let Sammy take the lead opening the coffin, salting the body, pouring the lighter fluid. But in the end it was Dean that lit the match. It dropped into the pit with a satisfying hiss, and the flames licked up the dirt toward their feet.

Now would be a good time, Dean thought to himself. If he was gonna say something comforting, it would be now, in the awkward, reverent moment that always followed burning the body of a stranger.

"So long, Barry Cook."

He turned to Sam, who was still watching the fire with a far off look in his eye. Silently, he turned off his flashlight and turned to pick up his shovel.

Alright. Not his finest moment. He'd wait to try again.

The flames died down and they flipped the casket shut once more. Then it was back to shoveling, throwing all the dirt back to where it came from. It wouldn't hide the fact that they'd been there. The freshly turned soil was still clear as day. But more people turned a blind eye to a fresh grave than an open one.

Sam patted down the dirt when they'd finished. He cleared his throat, probably swallowing a miserable sigh, and headed for the road again. Dean grabbed his arm before he could leave.

"Hey, just—just hang on, man."

"What?" Sam turned back, confused. "Dean, we can't exactly hang around right now. You know that."

"I know, I know, just…are you sure you're good?" Sam gave him a spectacular bitch face, and Dean rolled his eyes. "Look, I know it's not good. It sucks. But I'm asking if you're alright."

Sam sagged slightly. His eyes flicked back to the headstone. It looked dead without the dancing light of the flames.

"Barry was my friend. And I just burned his bones."

"Well, he's at peace now, Sam."

"I mean, if Dad had let us stay just a little while longer, maybe I could've helped the kid, you know?"

"You read the coroner's report same as me," Dean assured him. "Barry was on every anxiety drug and antidepressant known to man. School was hell for that kid. His parents had split up. He just wanted out. It was tragic, but it's not your fault."

Sam nodded, but continued to stare at the grave. Dean clenched his jaw, and tried again.

"To tell you the truth, I'm glad we got out of that town. I hated that school."

This time, Sam finally did look over at him. He shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugging as he led the way back toward the cars.

"It wasn't all bad."

"How can you say that after what happened to you?" Dean chuckled humorlessly. "That uh—That twerp that was picking on you between classes? Nearly knocked your lights out."

"I got him back," Sam reminded him.

"Yeah, sure. After you were done whining about wanting to be normal."

"You remember that?"

"Eh, not specifically. But that was always your thing when we were kids. You wanted to go to Office Max and buy all your folders and little binders, do your homework, join…I don't know, chess club."

"Shut up," Sam snorted, making Dean smile.

"I'm just saying, your life got a lot easier when you stopped pretending to be something you're not. You stepped up to the guy, gave him a taste of his own medicine. Bet he never bothered Barry again after that."

"What's your point, Dean?"

"You did help Barry. Just by using what you knew and being yourself. So try and stop beating yourself up about it."

"Right," he said, adjusting the shovel perched on his shoulder. "Dean, you haven't always been so down with the idea of me helping people with who I am."

Dean nearly stumbled when he stopped short, shocked.

"That's different. You know that's different."

"Yeah, I know."

"Seriously, Sam? You're still on this? That's…"

"I said I know, Dean!" Sam whirled back to face him, yet still couldn't meet Dean's gaze. His eyes scrunched up in frustration, bordering on agony. He pushed his hair back, baring clenched teeth. "Can we not…? I—I don't wanna do this right now. Forget it."

Dean desperately wanted to point out that he'd done jack shit wrong, and Sam had been the one to bring up the sore subject in the first place. But they were still standing in the cemetery, their hands still stinging from the effort of digging up Barry's coffin.

"Okay," he said instead, gesturing for Sam to lead the way back. "Forget it."

Kat was getting impatient by the time they returned to the cars. She was perched on the top of her Prius, legs folded underneath her, twirling her tiny billy club in her hands. Dean offered her a salute as they approached, which she scoffed at.

"Finally," she sighed, sliding gracefully off the roof. "Thought you guys got lost. Or eaten."

"Ghosts don't eat people," Dean grumbled as he passed her.

"Yeah, well with your luck they'll probably start."

He couldn't argue with that. Popping Baby's trunk, he tossed in his shovel and tried halfheartedly to organize all their shit.

"Well, I'm starved. Either of you down for a bite? Pretty sure there was a twenty-four-hour diner off the main road."

"I could eat," Kat agreed, walking around to the driver's side of her car.

"Uh, could you just drop me off?" asked Sam. "I'm kinda beat."

"Come on, Sam," sighed Kat. "Not to sound like my mom, but you've gotta eat."

"Nah, don't worry about it, man. Here."

Dean tossed over the car keys, which Sam caught with a look of surprise. He looked at Dean suspiciously.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, go ahead. Kat and I'll grab some take out, bring something back. Go pass out, take a shower, jerk off. Whatever it is that makes you less whiny."

Sam snorted and twirled the keys into his hand. "Right. Thanks."

They all climbed into their cars, Dean watching Sam's movements carefully. He was worried, sure. He was always worried about Sammy. But the guy had just buried a friend, no matter how briefly they knew each other. He was hurting. Dean didn't want to get into a fight any more than Sam did. Hopefully his determination to make dumbass decisions would fade away with his grief. If not, they could duke it out in the morning.

Kat was watching him curiously.

"What?" Dean demanded.

"Went that bad, huh?"

"Meaning?"

"Sam's been acting weird all night. Now you're handing over the keys to your car and voluntarily climbing into mine? Kinda seems like you fucked up."

"Shut up," Dean grumbled. He attempted to push his seat back, but couldn't figure out how to work the bars and levers underneath the seat. He cursed under his breath, and then over his breath when he saw Kat watching him smugly. "Can you just fucking go?"

"Alright! Don't get your panties in a twist."

Kat started up the car, the speakers hopping to life with some upbeat girl song he knew he'd heard once or twice. Dean groaned and reached for the radio. But Kat had already snatched his wrist.

"Ah, ah, ah. You can set the volume. That's the deal."

"If I don't have a burger in my hands in twenty minutes you're gonna have a lot more to worry about than how loud your music is."

"Wow," Kat sang, pulling out onto the road. "Touchy, touchy."

The diner Dean had spotted wasn't anything special. There was one very grumpy cook and one tired waitress who disappeared as soon as she'd taken their order to go. There wasn't much going on at three o'clock in the morning, but Dean could still smell the lingering scent of bacon. His stomach growled. The cafeteria's sloppy joes were a lifetime ago.

He popped a squat on one of the bar stool, absent mindedly playing with one of the salt shakers. He reorganized the sugar packets in their bin by color, and then sorted the jam containers by flavor. And then, because he was an idiot, he chanced a glance out of the corner of his eye.

Kat was still watching him.

"Can I help you with something?" he demanded.

"You gonna tell me what's going on?"

"We're waiting for them to make our food. It's called cooking."

"With the case," she said flatly. "Tonight's been weird, but Sam's been off for a couple days now. And I just got you to listen to twenty minutes of Shania Twain's biggest hits without so much as a peep. What's up?"

"Concerned?"

"Definitely curious."

"Well, you know where that'll get ya, Kat…" Dean laughed at his own joke, unsurprised when her only reaction was to raise an eyebrow. He huffed. "Fine. You…You know how we said we moved around a lot? Bunch of different schools?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, this was one of them."

"Wait," she said, briefly shaking her head. "You two went to Truman?"

"Only for a couple of weeks, but yeah. Must've left a pretty big impression on Sammy. I figure that's why he was chomping at the bit to take the case."

"Okay. I still don't get why everyone's walking on eggshells."

"The kid we just buried. Well…reburied."

"Oh." Kat blinked at him. He couldn't see it, but he knew the puzzle pieces must be moving behind her head. "Shit."

"Yeah," he sighed. "I mean, at the end of the day, the job's the job. But it still sucks when it's someone you know."

"I know the feeling. I'm sorry."

"Hey, I didn't know the guy. But you know how Sam is. He gets attached fast. Three weeks and suddenly you're the best friend he's ever had."

Kat laughed lightly. She leaned back in her seat, pulling the salt shaker toward her so she could slide it back and forth between her hands.

"Still," she offered, "gotta be weird for you, being back."

"Not really," he said with a smirk. "Only things I remember about that school are Amanda Heckerling and the inside of the janitors closet."

"I'm surprised you remember anything."

"Hey, I'm a gentleman."

"Clearly," Kat snorted. "I just mean, you know, you moved around so much. Doesn't everything get blurry? What happened at which school and all that?"

"Sometimes. But to tell the truth, Truman was one of the last schools I ever went to. Couple more hunts and Dad decided I'd be more useful picking up research than sitting in English class."

"Wow," she gasped playfully. "You gave up your all access pass to the cheerleaders?"

"Hey, I still got plenty of cheerleaders," Dean defended. "I just hung around when I went to pick up Sammy, told em I was a college dude in town for my kid brother. They ate it up."

Kat rolled her eyes. "Naturally."

"Nothing girls like more than a bad boy with a soft spot for kids. I got more phone numbers that winter than my whole junior year. I mean…damn. That had to be, what—1997? Damn good year."

The salt shaker slid to a stop. Dean looked over to Kat, but in the second it had taken him to turn his head, she'd already composed herself. The shaker was flying again and she was rolling her eyes, albeit a little overenthusiastic.

"Why am I not surprised you've got a mental tally by year?"

Dean grinned, keeping his face casual. "Just what I do."

He watched her a bit longer, but still kept his mouth shut. He wasn't exactly sure it was safe to push the envelope this time. He didn't know Kat all that well, and he definitely didn't know how to read her mood. Still, she hadn't exactly been hiding how much she disliked their case. Her reluctance to go undercover, her meltdown in the gym, the reluctance to walk down memory lane. Obviously the chick had some unresolved academic issues.

Most of him didn't care. So long as she could still get the job done, it wasn't really his business. But he could admit that he was just as curious as she was. So he left her to her thoughts for a couple more minutes before he cleared his throat.

"Hey, uh…about before. In the gym. You know, I wasn't trying to piss you off."

"Right," she scoffed, not bothering to look up. "Cause you'd never try and do that."

"No, I'd…alright, fair. With the dodgeball, maybe. I just meant with the whole cheerleading practice thing. I was just joking around. I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable."

This time, Kat really did stop. She turned to stare at him, mouth open, so surprised that Dean almost instantly regretted speaking at all. And then she had to make it worse by laughing.

"Are—Are you actually apologizing to me? Dean Winchester?"

"Trying," he said through gritted teeth.

She held up her hands, pressing her lips together to show her silence. Still, her smirk made it hard to continue.

"Ahem, uh…I mean, that was pretty much all I had to say. I wasn't trying to upset you, I just didn't think…well. I figured, pretty girl like you, cheerleader, went to college. High school couldn't have been that bad."

Maybe it was because he was looking for it, but Dean could see the amusement wither on her face this time. Her lips stretched into a thinner line, and her nail tapped absentmindedly against the metal of the salt shaker.

"Yeah," she sighed, her eyes dropping to his chest. "Not so much."

She didn't offer anything further. Before Dean could figure out if he was supposed to prompt her or wait it out, the waitress returned with their food. Kat jumped at the diversion. She smiled widely as she took the bags, over-tipped the woman for her service, and scurried out the door.

Dean knew a closed door when he saw one. He wasn't gonna fight his way through. He let Kat play whatever music she had without much more than a grumble, and they didn't talk on the way back to the motel. She kept her eyes on the road. He kept his eyes on the food. Comfortable silence.

The first thing he noticed when they pulled into the parking lot was the absence of the Impala. Whatever Sam had decided would make him feel better obviously wasn't waiting in the motel room. Dean grit his teeth, trying not to let it bother him. Sam had gotten used to driving Baby. One night out wouldn't wreck her. And if he wanted alone time, that was fine by Dean. That meant he had the whole room to himself. It was still relatively early—or late. If he hurried, he might be able to find a few late night reruns of _Dr. Sexy MD_ before the morning news…

The Prius beeped loudly behind him, and Dean turned to watch as Kat stalked away with her half of the take out. Her hair hung down over her face as she walked, eyes to the ground.

He gripped his room key a little tighter.

"Hey, Kat, do you uh—want some company? Crappy motel TV, couple'a beers to wrap up the case?"

 _Weak_.

"Thanks, but no thanks," she called back, smiling wryly. "I'm beat. Some of us actually did work today."

"That's rich coming from the chick who took a pass on digging the grave a couple hours ago."

"Hey, leave it to the pros, right? Besides, I gotta write up a case report or something for my mom. She's pretty much hounding me a for play by play now that I'm full time."

"Homework?" Dean asked with a scrunched nose. "Gross."

"Yeah, you're telling me. Have one for me though."

She let herself into her room and did not look back at him. Dean pouted thoughtfully in the parking lot. That had been downright pleasant. Something really had to be bugging her.

The first thing he did when he got back to his room was grab his laptop. Well, after he ate his burger. He wasn't _that_ curious. But it was time to do some homework of his own.

There was one benefit to having a name like Katherine Moore. It was general as fuck. She was not an easy person to find. But somewhere between all the suburban soccer mom home blogs, grandmothers cooking sites, and middle school MySpace pages, he found a link that pointed him in the right direction.

Dean could've done without the bright pink. But that was probably par for the course for a women's gym. On the top of the page the words "Warrior Women" were printed in stark white, the two O's connected with a little plus that mimicked the weird female symbol he'd never known the use for. He frowned appreciatively, flicking through the pictures on the homepage. Unsurprisingly, none of them showed Kat. They focused on the students, the different kinds of equipment the gym had, the classes. Dean was momentarily distracted by a dated advertisement for pole fitness, which led him down a click-hole into the programs and classes tab. He was disappointed to find it wasn't a class they actually offered.

The About tab was headed with a picture of the full staff—about a dozen women in matching T-shirts, arms wrapped around each other in a very kumbaya, overly happy fashion. Kat sat in the middle glaring playfully at the camera, her fists up and ready to punch.

Dean scanned the blurb underneath, but it didn't give him anything useful. It talked about when the gym had opened, where Kat had gone to school, nothing that gave any real insight into her as a person. The closest thing he got was a mission statement:

 _"Our business does not change women into warriors. Every woman in this world is already a warrior—mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Our goal is to teach you how to protect that warrior, to show you not how to fight other people, but to fight for yourself."_

Well, that was a load of inspirational bullshit, but it did have a nice ring to it.

After a few more minutes of searching, he found a staff directory. Every instructor had a picture and a little bio to tell prospective students more about them and what classes they taught. Dean smirked at the name "Harley Bates"—a tiny brunette girl with a sly smile and her hair in Pippy Longstocking braids. And she taught a dance work out. Definitely Sammy's type.

He almost scrolled right past Kat. It was an old picture. Same face, same hair, but something about it was unrecognizable. Maybe because she wasn't giving the camera a death stare or flipping it off. She had her hair pulled back into one of those bouncy, high ponytails, and a bright blue sports bra. Her eyes were wide and clear, and she wore the widest smile Dean had ever seen on her. It was dazzling.

Dean frowned. Dazzling? Who the fuck was he? A YA author?

He moved over to the bio, but it was just a regurgitation of the business blurb. She had this degree and this certificate and yada yada yada. Where was all the soulful stuff? This was her business, wasn't it? The about blurb should be all about how she started the company, where she grew up, her personal experience and whatever. Where was all the dirt?

Dean chewed on his lip and went back to the search page.

Social media was always a good way to learn people's secrets. Problem was, Dean didn't know a lot about social media. Most hunters didn't. He was wanted in multiple states and also supposed to be dead—twice. He wasn't dumb enough to start taking selfies for MySpace or whatever. But if Kat was still a semi-functioning member of normal society, she probably had some kind of page somewhere.

The first couple sites he got bubkis. He clicked on a link to Facebook, and looked through the first few Katherines that popped up. He tried to click to the next page, but nothing happened. He clicked again. Nothing. He clicked a few more times. That's when he caught sight of the blue banner at the top of the page.

 _Sign up for Facebook now to view more results!_

Dean huffed. That was ridiculous. He wasn't gonna take an ultimatum from the latest shitass website everyone was using. In a couple months people'd move on, no matter what twisted marketing scams they were using. It was stupid.

"I am literally a sixteen-year-old stalker," he grumbled to himself, clicking on the sign up button.

Twenty minutes later, his account for Hector Aframian was all set up—bogus email, fake birthday, stock photo profile pic and all. He typed in his search again, and this time got hundreds of options. He had no idea how to narrow his search. Just figuring out the filters took another ten minutes. 'Lives in California' didn't help all that much. He knew he was supposed to know her birthday, but he couldn't remember that either. On a whim, he searched for Warrior Women under business profiles. That got him started, and after a few more minutes of scrolling through pages, finding the members, weeding out people's profiles, he finally found the right link.

Kat was listed as a page admin. It was another old picture, but this one looked more like her. Her blonde hair hung in its beachy waves, a dark pair of sunglasses obscuring her face in the too bright California sun.

"Jackpot," said Dean, practically glowing as he clicked on the profile.

It was set to private.

Dean very nearly threw his laptop across the room. Typical. Why was he fucking surprised? This was Kat they were talking about. She didn't like telling people her order for dinner. She wasn't gonna plaster personal pictures all over the internet for the public to see. He was being an idiot.

He grumpily closed out of the page, but lingered on the blank search bar once more. If he was really serious about piecing things together, there were a few research tricks he could probably break out. It wouldn't be too hard to do some math and figure out what year Kat had graduated high school. He could look through one of those classmates websites, try and find yearbook photos or something like that. He could try and find Harley's page, see if there were any pictures or posts about Kat on there. He could try digging into Jess's life and see what stories cropped up in memorial pages. That sounded a little messy, even for him. Especially when Kat was already acting weird, and Sam was down and out. Messing with Jess's memory would only put him in the dog house.

As he packed up his laptop, he tried to think back to the night they'd stayed over in Kat's apartment. He couldn't remember seeing many fuzzy childhood memories. Sam had pointed out Kat's graduation photo, right next to Jess's, but that had been right before they left.

With sudden clarity, Sam's words looped in Dean's mind.

 _"She didn't open the gym until 2004, and she didn't become a hunter until 2006. So why do you think she suddenly threw herself into learning how to fight?"_

He stuffed the laptop into a duffle bag, and pointedly slid it under the motel bed.

No, Dean decided. He wasn't that serious about piecing things together. Some shit was better left buried.


	42. Chapter 42

The next day saw grey storm clouds drifting into small-town Indiana. As if the mood wasn't already gloomy enough. The shock and excitement of lethal attacks seemed to have worn off for the student body of Truman High. Now the concern and fear were setting in. Between that and the weather, everyone was looking pretty subdued. Which wasn't great, of course, but did make it a lot easy to get some work done.

Kat slid a hand down her face at her desk, mentally kicking herself. It _would_ be easier to get some work done. If she were really a school nurse. Which she was not.

She shook out her arms, leaning back from her seventh game of solitaire to survey the room. It was empty—a far cry from the dodgeball crowd the day before. Not even Margot was at her desk. She'd stepped out for her second cigarette of the morning. It left the room quiet, almost peaceful.

But obviously, she thought back later, all things had to come to an end.

Without warning, a student came tumbling through the doorway. He was running so fast that he nearly tripped himself on the tile floor, and was gasping for breath when he collided with Nurse Hannigan's desk. The sound made Kat jump about a foot in the air, and she nearly grabbed the knife she'd taped to the bottom of her chair. Thankfully, she composed herself in time.

"Woah, okay, what's wrong?" She hurried around the desk, grabbing the boy by the shoulders. "Are you okay?"

"Me? I'm—yeah—it's—it's my friend Jennifer! Jennifer Tanaka, she—she was passed out in the hallway."

"Where?" Kat demanded.

"No, she's coming. Mr. McNeil's bringing her. I was—just supposed to let you know. Ow, ow, ow, my knee…"

Kat contained a groan of annoyance as she helped the kid to a bench. She was just tossing an ice pack to him when the next set of people walked into the office. The man was carrying a teenage girl in his arms, unmistakably unconscious.

"God, Jeremy, I told you to run ahead and get the nurse, not use yourself as a battering ram."

"Is she alright?" Kat asked, leading the teacher over to another clear bench.

"I don't know. Guess that's your call. Jeremy found her slumped clear in the middle of the hallway. No idea what happened. But that doesn't look to me."

He nodded down to the girl. Her skin was pallid, dark bags blossoming under her eyes. But Kat assumed he was referring to the dark black substance that was oozing out of her nose and mouth.

Kat grabbed a box of tissues, hurriedly wiping it out of site.

"Nose bleed," she said confidently. "She probably just fainted."

"Nose bleed?" the teacher echoed. "But she has…"

"Where did you find her?" Kat asked the boy.

"In the hallway," Jeremy answered with a shrug.

"No, I mean exactly. Where did you find her?"

"Oh, she—she was in the English wing. Outside…I don't know. Room 287? 286?"

"Okay. Right." Kat ran a hand through her hair, trying to think fast. "Is that anywhere near the art wing?"

"No," Jeremy answered. "But she might've down there this morning working on something."

"See?" Kat smiled disarmingly. "It's probably all the fumes and charcoal. It can change the color. Totally normal. She might've bit her cheek in the fall. I'll keep her here for observation though, call her parents."

She ushered them out of the room as quickly as she could manage. Only when she was certain they were gone did she grab the iron blade from under her chair, along with the flask of salt in her filing cabinet. Then she checked the girl's pulse. Satisfied that she was still breathing and no longer possessed, Kat patted her head and made for the door. If there was one recently inhabited body, there was probably another missing life or limbs. She did not want to risk a student walking into that.

Before she could make it to the hall, her phone rang on the desk. Kat doubled back, glancing at the screen and flicking it open.

"Hey, case is definitely not done."

 _"Wait, what?"_ Dean's voice asked.

"The hunt. Not finished. Case very much not closed."

 _"No, I mean,_ I _know it's not case closed. Why do_ you _know it's not case closed?"_

"Maybe because I have a little girl in my office oozing ectoplasm out of her face."

 _"Your office?"_ he echoed. _"What, the nurse's office?"_

"No, the Oval Office. Surprise!"

 _"Shut up. What are you doing at the school anyway?"_

"Working. Or pretending I am, anyway."

 _"But we thought we closed the case."_

"Yeah, and you said we should stick around for a few days so it didn't look suspicious."

 _"Holy shit, you believed me?"_

Kat pulled the phone away from her ear. She closed her eyes, her hand clenching the device so hard that the plastic threatened to crack under grip. Digging her nails deep into her other hand, she growled into the phone.

"When was the last time I reminded you that I'm gonna flay you a-fucking-live?"

 _"Hey, look, I'm sorry. I—I honestly did not think you were gonna take that seriously. I was just trying to get a rise out of you."_

"What else is new?" She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore his chuckles. "So if I've been sitting here like an idiot all morning, where the fuck have you two been?"

 _"Well, we did come to school. Sam wanted to talk to some English teacher, some_ Dead Poets Society _thing. But he ran into our ghost friend instead."_

"Is he alright?"

 _"Eh, he's got a couple bruises and a damaged nutsack, but he'll be alright. We're parked a couple miles outta town regrouping."_

"Right," Kat scoffed. "You bolted and left the teenage girl unconscious on the public school floor. Real Samaritans."

 _"Hey, you wanna explain why the janitor had to duke it out with a sixteen-year-old, be my guest."_

Kat wanted to retort, but he did have a very real point. If their quick departure didn't raise questions, an altercation like that certainly would.

"Whatever. I'm still gonna kill you."

 _"Alright, noted, but—this is actually good. You're stuck there, then you still got access to those records. You gotta go through those again. I think we missed something."_

"Oh, no, no! Don't you push this on me! I did my part. I looked through all the records, and Barry is the only person that has ever died on this campus. If something's wrong, it's cause you didn't burn the bones right."

 _"It's burning bones! Salt, lighter fluid, done!"_

"And yet, you still managed to fuck it up."

 _"Shut the hell up. Just—Just look again, alright? We're gonna look over the stuff we've already got."_

"Fine," Kat sighed, plopping down in front of her desk. "I guess I can widen the search. I'll try looking farther back and maybe that…"

 _"No, don't go back. Keep it recent. Class of '97 through…I don't know, '03 or so? Anyone who was student or faculty in November 1997."_

"Okay. That's…kinda specific."

 _"Yeah, well…it's looking like this is someone Sammy knew. Or at least someone that knew him. Ghost dropped his name before the beat down."_

Kat tried to keep her sigh of despair quiet. Nothing was ever simple.

"Alright. I'll take a look. Let you know what I find."

 _"Cool. Thanks, Kat."_

She dropped the phone back on the desk and let out a long, low groan of frustration and fury. Why couldn't she have learned to mourn the death of her sister like a normal person? No, she had to go and become a supernatural P.I. and now she was paying the price. Fucking dumbass.

Before she started down the click-hole that was the school's student records, she made a quick call to the unconscious girl's family. Mrs. Tanaka was beside herself, but Kat assured her that her daughter probably just had a bump on the head. They'd know more when she woke up, but for the moment she was completely stable.

She'd just pulled up the class of '97 when Nurse Hannigan returned. Her absent-minded humming stopped the moment she spotted the occupied bench.

"What the…?"

"She's fine," Kat said, without looking up. "Mr. McNeil brought her up from the English wing. Looks like she fainted. I already called her family."

"Goodness me." She threw her cigarette case back on her desk with more force than necessary. "You know, I have no idea what's gotten into the district this week. Attacks, freak accidents, blatant disregard for school regulations. Suddenly this place is a nut house."

Kat snickered, waving a hand in agreement.

"Well," Margot sighed, settling into her chair, "at least we haven't had any more dodgeball fiascos. Looks like you were really able to get through to Coach Roth yesterday."

"Oh no, haven't you heard? He was escorted off campus yesterday for making obscene comments about the cheerleaders. Men, huh?"

Nurse Hannigan gaped, and with a venomous smile and a deep feeling of satisfaction, Kat turned back to the old school records.

Kat did not like being responsible for the paper trail end of hunts. She wasn't good at it. She didn't have experience finding her way around unfamiliar filing systems, and more importantly, she didn't have the patience for it. Finding the information on Barry hadn't been too bad. In a school so small, there weren't many incident reports to go through. But now she had to look through _everyone—_ people who were alive, people who were dead, people who had moved out of state. She searched each name, looking for obituaries or social media updates or anything of the kind. It was just…so much. And she had so little interest in doing it. She kept hoping the girl, Jennifer, might spring up from the bench and tell her that she knew exactly who had possessed her. Until that miracle, she'd have to keep chipping away at the list one name at a time.

She worked through her lunch break, her eyes feeling like they were ready to bleed. Nothing she'd found seemed all that promising, but it was hard to tell when you didn't know what you were looking for. It was hard enough finding the names, let alone discerning which of them would have enough unfinished business to stick around after death.

It was a relief and a disappointment when her phone rang next to her. She'd failed to find anything useful, but maybe the boys had better luck.

"Do you mind?" she asked Margot, holding up her phone.

"Go ahead," she assured her, before turning back to her magazine.

Kat answered the call with a sigh. "Hey, Dad. I'm actually at work."

 _"Is that really necessary?"_ Sam chuckled.

"Yup. How are you feeling? Mom told me you had a rough morning."

 _"I've been worse. Good news is the ghost doesn't punch as hard as you do."_

"Well, that's what I like to hear."

 _"How about you? You been able to find anything in the records?"_

"Not much." She glared reproachfully at her computer screen. "Nothing interesting anyway. There is a whole lot of uninteresting stuff."

 _"We might be able to narrow that down for you. Got a name for you—Dirk McGregor Jr. You got a second to check it out?"_

Kat peeked over the top of her computer, but Margot was still engrossed in her magazine. Quietly as she could, she opened a new page and typed in the new search. It didn't garner a lot of results, but with addition of the town name she was able to narrow it down. What came up was not good.

 _"Anything?"_ Sam prompted.

"Uh, yeah," she answered, running a hand through her hair. "But like I said, I'm still at work."

 _"Alright, just uh…did—did he pass?"_

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

Sam took a shaky breath. Kat knew she should probably say something, but she wasn't sure what a situation like this called for. There also wasn't much she could say in front of Margot. So she just waited awkwardly until Sam cleared his throat.

 _"Okay, does it say anything about a burial? Anything like that?"_

"Not really," said Kat, scrolling over the page. It was a death announcement, barely four sentences long. "Like I said, not a lot going on."

 _"Figures. Well, we've got an address for his dad. Turns out he's one of the bus drivers at the school. Dean and I will swing by there now to talk to him, see what kind of answers we can get."_

"I don't think that's gonna work."

 _"Why not?"_

"When was the last time you looked at a clock?"

Her eyes drifted to the clock on the wall. The buses were due at the high school in about twenty minutes, which meant Dirk McGregor Sr. probably wouldn't be home for at least another two hours or so.

She heard Sam curse under his breath.

 _"Dean, we gotta go. Like now. Put the gun down, dude! There are people here!"_

"Where are you right now?" Kat asked over their hushed arguing.

 _"Uh, the bus lot."_

"Of course," she snorted. "Well, how bout I meet _you and Mom_ at home when I get off work and we can grab some food. We can talk about it then."

 _"Yeah, yeah. Sounds good. Bye, Kat. Dean, I told you to put the shotgun—!"_

The line went dead, and Kat rolled her eyes.

"It's so good that you still talk to them," Margot offered from her desk. She'd put aside her magazine to look at Kat fondly. "I wish my kids still offered to come round for dinner. I'd have to drag 'em by their briefs."

"Yeah," Kat laughed, dropping her phone into her bag. "We're just one, big, happy family."

The rest of the day left no room for solitaire. Nurse Hannigan fussed about as soon as Jennifer showed signs of stirring, and Kat was left to explain the situation to the frantic Mrs. Tanaka when she came to pick her daughter up from the office. Kat only narrowly avoided having to fake her way through an incident report. Thankfully, Margot thought it was so quaint that she was going to have dinner with her parents that she offered to pick up the paperwork.

It was a relief to get the hell out of the parking lot.

The Winchesters were already waiting at the motel when she got back. Sam was sitting morosely on his bed, his laptop propped open in front of him. Dean was kicked back at the small table, a large bucket of fried chicken in front of him.

"Oh, thank God," Kat sighed. She made a beeline for the food, snatching it out of Dean's reach and smacking him on the head for good measure.

"Ow! The fuck was that for?"

"You _know_ what that was for." She took the chair across from him, and kept the bucket hugged close to her chest. Tearing into a chicken breast, she spoke with her mouth full. "Wha' were you two doin' at the bus lot anyweh?"

"Investigating," Dean spat. "A lot more useful than you've been."

"Wow, and who's fault is it that again?"

"Look, I told you, I didn't think you'd believe me."

"You're such an asshole…"

"The kids all rode the same bus," Sam interrupted. "Took a second look at their files, went to go check it out."

His voice was flat—void of amusement or frustration. It was enough to make Kat and Dean drop their argument. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow, but he just shrugged. Sam's emotions were an enigma to everyone, apparently.

"Okay," Kat prompted. "So did you guys find anything?"

"Not much," said Dean. "EMF was going off, but we didn't have a lot of time to check it out. Had to stuff my shotgun down the back of my jacket to get past all the bus drivers punching in."

"Smooth," she snorted. He sneered at her, and she tossed the bucket of chicken back on the table for him. "So we've got a haunted bus? How does that work?"

"Not sure," he answered. "Ghost possesses them in the morning, rides into the school, jumps ship back to the bus after the attack. We just gotta figure out what's tying it there. Stray hair, skin…"

"God, that's disgusting." Kat gagged, and dropped the rest of her chicken on a napkin. "Do you ever think about that? Seven years and they've never hosed that thing down?"

"Six years, three months."

They both turned to Sam, who was still staring at his computer screen. Kat frowned, deeper when Dean grumbled from across the table.

"Nice going, Tink."

She glared at him, but turned her attention back to Sam. She did her best to sound comforting.

"So this Dirk guy. Was he a friend of yours?"

"Uh, no." Sam sat back, casting a hand down his face. He smiled awkwardly. "Not at all. Actually, he was a real jerk. Made life a living hell for the rest of us—me, Barry. I don't know. Kinda makes it feel worse."

"So the kid was a bully," said Dean. "Doesn't mean you wanted him dead. All of us get it in the end."

"Does it say what happened?" Kat asked.

"Nah. Just that he'd been fighting in the hospital for a few days, and that he'll be missed. Looks like his dad's the only family still around."

"Well," said Dean with a clap of his hands. "Let's go pay the old man a visit."

"Uh uh." Kat grabbed the bucket of chicken again, slouching pointedly in her chair. "After food."

Sam snorted as she grabbed another piece of chicken, chowing down without shame. Dean just watched her disparagingly.

"Seriously? You're just gonna shotgun chicken like that? Would you like something to drink?"

"Yeah, beer would be great. Thank you."

It was a credit to Sam's skills as a peace keeper that they all made it out of the motel alive. Dean slammed the doors of his car like a baby, and Kat kept her distance in the Prius as she followed them to the McGregor household. It was a small house—one floor with the pale green paint starting to peel on the shutters. The garden was nice, the lawn presentable, but the house had definitely seen better days. She imagined it wasn't all that different for the man that lived inside.

She saw Sam and Dean heading up the path, but Kat lingered in her car a little longer. There were a lot of things she didn't like to do when it came to hunting. Talking to widows and widowers, parents of dead children, people who had lost their friends and family—that was definitely at the bottom of the list. Normally, she could coach herself through it. She needed to speak to these grieving people to prevent more losses in the future. And when she was posing as a cop, or an agent, or a whatever, it didn't feel that bad. She could tell them she was going to do her best to investigate, and that wouldn't be a lie.

But this, she thought as a plain-clothed Sam knocked on the door, this was a lie. To say they wanted to pay their respects when they were looking to dig up a body. And Kat had never even known this kid. Surely they didn't all need to go into the house.

She watched as the front door opened to reveal a short man with neat, white hair. His face fell as Sam spoke, but after a moment, he stepped aside. He nodded them into the house with a brave smile. Kat almost relaxed, thinking she was in the clear. But then Dean took a step back, saying something before he headed for her car. He kept his forced smile in place all the way up to her passenger door, and rapped his knuckles against the window sharply.

Resigned, Kat rolled it down.

"Get out of the car," he hissed. "Now."

"No," she hissed back. "What good is it gonna do if all three of us go in there? It's overwhelming."

"Please, like this is about some old guy. You just don't want to do the footwork."

"What I _want_ is to respect a man's privacy and root around in other people's lives as little as I possibly can! I don't know who this guy is—or was!"

"Neither do I! All I know is that he's gunning it for my brother, and if we don't find out more, another kid is gonna lose a hand, or worse. So for the love of God, get out of the car."

Kat glowered at him. But with the old man still standing in the doorway, there wasn't much she could do. With a painful amount of physical control, she climbed out of the Prius and shut the door softly behind her. She trudged after Dean up the path with her head hung low.

"Please, come in," Mr. McGregor greeted them, ushering them into the house. "It's nice to meet you…?"

"Katherine," she answered. "But really, I don't want to impose…"

"Nonsense. Any friend of Dirk's is welcome in my home."

Kat's stomach lurched, but Dean laid a strong hand on her shoulder, preventing any escape.

"Yeah, we were just looking up some familiar names when we heard the news. Our family moved around a lot back then—military brats, you know. We weren't in town that long."

"That makes a bit more sense," said Mr. McGregor. He showed them to a sitting room as he talked. "I don't recall Dirk having many friends at Truman. Here, sit down."

Kat would have refused, if only to wander looking at pictures, but Dean forced her into an armchair before joining his brother on the sofa.

"When did Dirk pass?"

"He was eighteen," Mr. McGregor said solemnly.

Sam clasped his hands in front of him. "What happened to him?"

"Well, there was…first, drinking. Then drugs, and then too many drugs. And he just…slipped through my fingers. It—It was my fault."

"I'm sure that's not true," said Kat.

"No, I should have seen it coming. He—He was my boy. Dirk, he uh—well, he had his troubles."

"What kind of troubles?" asked Dean.

"School was never easy for Dirk," the man sighed. "We didn't have much money, and well. You know kids. They can be cruel. They picked on him."

"They picked on _him?"_ Sam asked.

Kat prayed that his inflection was subtler than she was hearing it. Mr. McGregor must not have picked up on the disbelief, because he only nodded.

"They called him poor and dirty and stupid. They even had a nickname for him—Dirk the Jerk. After what happened to his mother, he…"

"His mother?" Sam asked, almost too quickly.

"Yeah, Jane—my wife. She died when Dirk was thirteen. Cancer. I was working three jobs, so it fell to Dirk to take care of her. And he was a great kid. He made sure Jane got her medicine, he helped her, cleaned up after her. But you know, you—you watch somebody die slow, waste away to nothing…it does things to a person. Horrible things."

Kat pressed a hand over her mouth. She didn't even want to hear her own breathing in the heavy silence that had settled over the room. She didn't want to move, or hear the furniture creak under her. She hated the misery that life dumped on people.

"I didn't know about his mother," Sam said quietly.

"He—He wouldn't talk about her," Mr. McGregor said with a bitter smile. "Not even to me. Lot of anger in that boy."

"I'm sorry."

Kat nodded in agreement with Sam's sentiments. It was all she could really bring herself to do.

"Well," said Dean, in a loud, unaffected voice. "We'd really like to pay our respects, Mr. McGregor. Um, you mind telling us where Dirk is buried?"

"Oh, he wasn't," Mr. McGregor answered. "I had him cremated."

There was a pause as Sam, Dean and Kat all looked at each other, pretending desperately that they weren't looking at each other. No grave meant no body, which meant whatever was keeping Dirk here was going to be a lot smaller and harder to destroy.

"All of him?" Dean asked weakly.

Thankfully, Sam was close enough to furtively elbow him.

"W-Well, I kept a lock of his hair," said Mr. McGregor, completely nonplussed.

"Oh, that's—that's nice," said Dean. "Where do you keep that?"

Kat was very glad that she was sitting in the armchair, where she could glare holes into Dean's very skin without having to hide her expression.

"On my bus?" Mr. McGregor answered. "In my Bible."

Dean nodded sagely, exchanging a look with Sam, but evidently did not think it was worth the effort to say anything.

"My mom did the same thing," Kat said, in an attempt to diffuse the tension. "When my sister died, she—she bought a special locket that she keeps in her room. She wanted one of those fancy frames—the little, uh…shadow box thing. But I told her I wouldn't be able to look at it."

The old man's skepticism melted away into a miserable, commiserating grin.

"I know what you mean. Truth be told, I don't take it out much—hair or the Bible. I don't have to read it to know God's looking out for me. I suppose it's the same with Dirk. I know he's still there, and that's all that matters."

"That's really beautiful," Dean said with a hollow smile. "Anyway, like Kathy said, we don't want to impose, so we'll just get out of your hair. Again, we are so, so sorry for your loss."

Dean was the first up from the sofa, clapping Sam on the shoulder and shaking hands with the still-extremely-confused Mr. McGregor. He patted the arm of Kat's chair as he passed, urging her to move. Kat took the opportunity to snatch his hand and dig her nails into his wrist.

Maintaining her grip but ignoring his smothered sounds of pain, she stepped around him to shake hands with Mr. McGregor. "Thank you so much for seeing us. I hope you have a good day."

Dean dragged her outside before she could say anything else. They were barely out of the door before he was clawing frantically at her fingers. But Kat did not let go.

"Fuck! Kat, I swear—ow!"

"Call me 'Kathy' again, and I chop the whole hand off."

"Fine! I got—I got it!"

She threw his hand back to him, satisfied by the way he hugged his arm close to his chest. He checked his skin, blubbering like a baby, and Kat rolled her eyes. "Relax, I barely scratched you."

"Bare—I'm bleeding! Look at this!"

Kat would've continued the argument, but Sam had finally followed them out of the house. He kept his eyes low, wandering right between the two of them as he made his way back to the Impala. He didn't even try and stop them from making a scene.

Dean pursed his lips, nodding to her. "Guess we'll take lead back to the bus lot."

"Sure. I'll meet you guys there."

The benefit of being in a small town was that they didn't have far to go. The district lot was barely five minutes away. Kat pulled in right behind the Winchesters and followed them right around to the back. She didn't think much of it as they circled the buses, even weaving up and down some of the lanes. In fact, she didn't even realize something was wrong until they were back in the front parking lot.

"You've gotta be kidding me," she grumbled, watching the Impala coast to a stop.

Dean climbed out of the driver's side and patted his car on the roof. Kat tried to wave him down, looking for any indication of what the fuck was going on. But of course, Dean had more important things to worry about. He just jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the Impala and kept walking.

Kat simmered. She was getting really tired of being directed around.

Killing the engine, she slid out of the Prius and hopped into the Winchester's car. She considered the front seat, if only to piss Dean off, but there were some lines even she didn't want to cross.

"Hey," she greeted Sam, ducking into the backseat. "I know I say this all the time, but your brother is a real asshole."

"Yeah, I know," he chuckled weakly. "Sorry about that."

"Well, it's not exactly news. What's going on? Why're we idling?"

"Can't find the bus," Sam sighed. "Dean's going up to the office to ask."

Kat nodded, but Sam didn't offer anything else. His hands were still folded in front of him, just like they'd been on the sofa. He stared sightlessly at the dashboard, hair in his eyes.

It was pretty clear this was some kind of set up. But Kat took the bait anyway.

"How you feeling?" she asked, stretching her legs across the back bench.

"Hm?" Sam looked up, wide-eyed. "Oh, I'm good. Yeah. Fine."

"Sam."

He smiled bitterly and twisted to face her. "Not great, I guess."

"I figured as much. I mean, I imagine it's gotta be weird. Even if you weren't friends. Someone you knew, but didn't quite know. And now they're gone. Shakes you up."

"It's not that." Sam leaned back against the passenger door, staring resolutely at the steering wheel. "I told you that Dirk used to pick on Barry. Pick on me."

"Yeah, so? You heard McGregor. Kids are cruel. Everyone's been on the receiving end at one point or another."

"Yeah, but that name…I made that up. I said that to Dirk and…man, the other kids treated me like some kind of hero. I actually thought I was standing up for Barry, helping him. And I did I really did was ruin Dirk's life."

"Alright, well let's not get out of hand," said Kat. "The kid said something mean and you reacted. Everyone knows middle school is a war zone. It's hard enough worrying about yourself. You don't have time to worry about what everyone else is going through."

"But I did have the experience," Sam argued. "Look, I know you're kind of new to hunting, but…it gives you a different perspective. I walked into school every day and I knew so much more about the real world than those other kids. About life."

"Sam, you knew about monsters and loss. That doesn't make you a licensed therapist. Especially at thirteen."

He laughed dryly, and ran a hand through his hair. "I know. I guess I just feel guilty."

"You had no control over what those other kids did."

"No, I get that. Logically, anyway, but…I just can't believe I never stopped to think what happened to him."

"Hey, I don't talk to anyone I went to school with," said Kat with a shrug. "Out of sight, out of mind. Better off that way."

Sam nodded, but he didn't seem all that convinced. Kat leaned across the seat to smack him lightly on the shoulder.

"Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I know you wouldn't have let that happen to him if you had the choice. If you'd stuck around, you wouldn't let those kids rag on him, no matter how shitty he was to you."

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice weak. "Cause…I'm not."

Kat sighed. Clearly Sam's guilt complex was not something to be taken lightly. She kicked her legs off the seat and sat up straight, folding her arms over the front seat. Then she looked him head on.

"Alright, you want the truth? I don't know what you'd do. Cause if you'd stayed at Truman for more than a month, you wouldn't be the Sam Winchester I met at Stanford. So it doesn't matter. All that matters is what you're gonna do now. All that drama and grief is keeping Dirk stuck here, miserable, and you're gonna fix that for him. Cause you're the only one who can. You couldn't help him then, but you can do something about it now. Got it?"

Sam stared at her. It made her a little uncomfortable, as did the small smile that was growing on his face. But she figured that was better than crying. Finally, he nodded, and she sank back into her seat.

"Good. And not to be crass, but Dirk does rhyme with jerk, and someone else would've realized that eventually."

"Jesus, Kat," Sam wheezed, shaking his head.

"What? I'm serious. Do you know how many people I've spoken to that think they've invented the nickname Kit Kat? Everyone thinks they're the funniest, most original person on the planet. I'm telling you, even if you hadn't called him Dirk the Jerk, the next year some jock would've coined…I don't know. Dirky Jerky or something."

"That doesn't even make any sense."

Kat shrugged, unperturbed, but was interrupted by a sharp knock on the window. Dean hopped into the driver's seat, looking more annoyed than anything.

"Bad news," he sighed. "Bus isn't here."

"No shit," said Kat. "So where is it?"

"Field trip. Wrestling team has an away meet for the championships. It's an overnight."

"Any idea where they're headed?" asked Sam.

"Yeah, and I know where we can cut 'em off. But we're gonna have to make pretty good time, so. Hold on tight."

"Wait, what?"

Kat scrambled, but the car was already lurching forward. She barely had time to lock her Prius from the back window before they were peeling out of the parking lot and back onto the road.


	43. Chapter 43

**TRIGGER WARNING: The end of this chapter contains allusions to sexual assault. Please proceed with caution.**

* * *

Kat looked down at the road in the darkness, arms crossed over her chest.

"Do I want to know why you guys have these?"

"What, you don't have road spikes?" asked Dean. He straightened out the roll across the street, and gave it a kick or two for sturdiness. "Nicked 'em from a security depot in Texas. Crazy civilian laws down there."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" She kicked the edge of the spikes as well, earning herself a nasty look from Dean. "Sorry. Can someone just walk me through this again?"

"Bus comes this way for the meet," said Sam, stepping up to her side with the sawed-off shotgun he was inspecting. "Spikes stop the bus, we get on, find the hair, stop the ghost."

"And just hope no one calls the cops in the meantime?" Kat asked in disbelief.

"Uh…yeah."

"Relax," Dean scoffed. "We're professionals, alright? We'll get the hair and be out of here in the Impala before any kind of law enforcement shows up."

"Assuming of course the bus makes it this far," she offered. "And Dirk doesn't off the lot of them by crashing the bus a couple miles back."

Dean paused, pouting at his spikes, but ultimately shrugged. "Eh, what're gonna do? Never said it was air tight."

"Clearly. We don't know if they're coming, we don't know how to avoid detection, and we don't know who Dirk is possessing."

"Last one's easy enough," said Dean. "Wait to see which one of 'em charges at Sammy like an angry bull. We'll let him tackle the ghost, I'll grab the hair, and you're on crowd control."

"Right. Just one other question…"

She eyed the shotgun in Sam's hands, and he shook his head without prompting. "Salt-rounds."

"Which will do what? I mean, how different is ghost possession from demonic possession?"

"Well, we're not sure," he admitted. "This is a lot of uncharted water, even for us. But salt should force him to evacuate the host, send him back where he came from. That's what I did this morning."

"Where he came from," Kat said with a nod. "So, the bus. Where he can possess someone else."

"It's not air tight," Sam repeated. "The gun's just a precaution. The rope should hold him long enough for you two to find the hair. Just…try and be quick."

Kat nodded. There was no point in vocalizing how shotty the plan was. It was the only one they had.

"Alright, people," said Dean, clapping his hands. "Let's hustle. Kat, you stay on that side, and stay down. Sam'll give you the signal for the all clear."

Kat stayed on her appointed side of the road, even though there wasn't much to hide behind. The boys had taken the side with the trees. All she had was a shallow ditch and some tall grass. She ducked as low as she could, kneeling in the mud that was left by the morning's storm clouds and shivering in the cold.

She could hear the bus about a mile off. The engine groaned as it raced down the empty road, but it still seemed to be approaching forever. She jumped when the spikes hit, the tires exploding with a deafening bang and then screeching without traction down the path. A wild thought paralyzed her momentarily—the bus spinning out of control, rolling into the ditch and crushing her into the mud—but the sound had stopped before she could act. All that was left was the quiet hiss of smoke and the muffled gasps of the students on the bus.

There was a creak as the door to the bus pulled open. Kat strained her ears, trying to decide who was stepping off. Was it just the driver? Was it a possessed driver? Were the students evacuating? But it was impossible to tell. She couldn't do anything but wait, until Sam's voice rang up and down the road.

"Dirk!"

"Winchester," an unfamiliar voice growled. "What are you gonna do? Shoot me?"

"Don't have to." More footsteps, grunts, which Kat assumed had been Dean's cue. "That rope is soaked in salt water, Dirk. You're not going anywhere."

Silence followed his statement, which Kat could only take as a sign that the rope was doing its job. The students must still be on the bus, but she couldn't imagine what they were thinking. Probably that they were being hijacked by terrorists or something. She knew that as "crowd control" she should have a better excuse to feed them, but they hadn't given her a huge amount of time to prepare.

"Hey, Kat?" That was Dean, shouting from somewhere up on the road. "Anytime you wanna come help! But you know, take your time!"

"What?" She kneeled up, peering over the top of the grass. "What happened to the signal?"

"The rope! The rope was the signal!"

"Oh, well _excuse me_! I thought the signal was gonna be a little more direct!"

She hobbled to her feet, cursing her sore knees. It felt like she'd been crouched down for hours, which simply could not be the case. The mud made it a bit trickier to get out of the ditch, but she managed to get back to street level without too much of an issue.

The bus had coasted to a stop cockeyed, now blocking the entirety of the road. Students were pressing their faces against the glass, cellphones already in hand, trying to get a good look at the scene outside. Sam had pulled the shotgun, and was holding a bound, balding man at gunpoint. Judging by the lack of uniform, Kat was willing to bet that "possessed bus driver" had been the correct guess.

Dean whistled for her like a dog, hanging out of the bus door. She flipped him off, and skirted around the confrontation to join him.

"Alright, everybody stay where you are," Dean called over the sea of students. "You'll be okay."

"Aren't you the P.E. teacher?" the coach asked from the front seat. "And the nurse?"

"That's uh…" He looked to Kat for direction, but she just shrugged. "Not really. We're like _21 Jump Street._ The—The bus driver sells pot. Yeah."

He nodded sagely, turning to the driver's street to begin his search. But the coach interrupted him again.

"I thought you were supposed to be a pedophile."

"Excuse me?" Dean snapped up, glaring at him. "Where the hell did you hear…?"

Kat did her very best to look innocent as Dean turned slowly to look at her.

"I have no idea what he's talking about," she said resolutely.

Dean didn't seem to buy it, but they were on the clock. He pointed a shaky finger at her, promising violence later, and began rummaging through the glove compartment.

"Wait," the coach sighed, still looking back and forth between them. "You guys are really cops? Seriously?"

"DEA," Kat confirmed. "We've been following this supply train for months trying to shut down their buyers."

"And you think you're gonna gind these drugs…on a school bus?"

Tired of coming up with excuses, Kat fixed the man with a glare. "Would you like to hear the statistics on the initiation age of drug users in America? Or maybe the percentage of distribution criminals who hold faculty positions?"

The coach quickly dropped the subject.

"I can't find anything," Dean grunted from behind her. "He must've moved it. Keep looking."

He darted off the bus, and Kat took his place at the front. The books had already been shaken and discarded, everything from McGregor's Bible to the bus manual. Kat double checked the glove compartment and the surrounding floor, just in case the hair had been knocked loose, but with no luck. She checked the in the garbage, underneath the bag, as well as the bottom of the driver's seat. The floor matting looked flat, and the edges hadn't been peeled up, so it wasn't likely under it. On a long shot, she pulled a dagger from her boot and stabbed at the seat cushion. She was clawing at the foam when the gunshots started.

Several people on the bus screamed, and Kat scrambled to her feet.

"Hey! Okay, everyone, it's alright! Please stay in your seats! Everything is under con…"

She stopped short. Everyone was looking at her now, some still whispering with their classmates, some frozen with fear. The scuffle outside had stopped, and Sam's words replayed in Kat's head.

 _"The salt should force him to evacuate the host, send him back where he came from."_

Her eyes slid over the faces in front of her. Most were pale and terrified. Some ducked down behind their seats when they saw her look. A few of the older boys were keeping their faces impassive—a blonde boy with spiky hair, a small boy with an earring, a large one with a nose bleed…

He jumped out of his seat, and Kat barely had time to brace herself. She tried to take out his knees, but in confined quarters, it was all too easy for him to hold himself up. He charged forward and used his sheer body mass to pin her to the dashboard. She yelped in pain as her back slammed into the edge.

"Sam!"

Kat fumbled with the knife, but Dirk was already a step ahead of her. He was squeezing her wrist so hard it was ready to break. His other arm he had pinned against her throat, forcing her head back against the windshield.

The force disappeared all at once. Kat slumped to the floor as the boy was yanked sideways by two sets of hands. All three of them tumbled out of the bus, Dirk's new body threatening to pancake Dean into the asphalt. The ghost recovered first, clambering on top of Sam and punching him repeatedly. Dean had rolled out of the way to pick up the shotgun.

"No!" Kat tripped down the stairs, grabbing the gun before Dean could shoot. "You shoot him, he'll just pick another body! We have to find the hair!"

"Well where the fuck is it?"

"I don't know! It's—It's definitely not on the bus. But where else would he want to keep it?"

Dean's eyes lit up, and he shoved the gun into her hands before running toward the injured bus driver. Kat went to follow, only to be stopped by Sam's guttural sound of pain. In one fluid motion, she swung around gun-first. The shotgun collided with the wrestler's head, throwing him sideways long enough for Kat to reposition the gun in her hands.

"Try this, jerk."

She jammed the butt of the gun into his head. It made a satisfying thud—but a not so satisfying reaction. The boy grabbed onto the barrel with both hands and yanked it hard enough to send the gun flying. And Kat did not have enough time to let go.

Her whole body left the ground, and she was airborne for almost a whole second before she collided with the ground once more. The bad news was that he'd flung her pretty far. The good news was that she rolled onto grass rather than asphalt.

A scream cut through the air, and Kat sank into the dirt with relief. That wasn't a familiar voice. Which probably meant there was no rush to get up.

She let her sore arms buckle underneath her. The grass scratched her face, making her wrinkle her nose, but the rain didn't feel too bad. She rolled onto her back and pushed her hair out of her face. The world was still spinning a little, but it felt like it was slowing down already. She let the stars come into focus again before dragging herself up into a sitting position, and grabbed the hand that appeared in front of her face.

"You know," she groaned. "I'm getting real tired of being thrown around like a rag doll."

"Should've drank more milk as a kid," Dean offered. "Maybe then you'd be taller."

He pulled her to her feet with almost no effort. Kat would've punched him, but her legs were still a little too weak for walking. She settled for elbowing him in the ribs as she tested her weight.

"Uh, guys? A little help?"

Sam was still lying outside the bus, pinned on his back by the heavyweight wrestler. Without the ghost though, it seemed the guy had passed out. He'd fallen face-first on Sam's torso, leaving Sam to slowly suffocate under his dead weight.

"Look at that," said Dean with a smirk. "He's giving you the full cowgirl."

"I'm begging you. Can you please think about something besides sex for ten minutes?"

Dean stuck his tongue out at her, but moved to help her free Sam nonetheless. They each grabbed one of the wrestler's arms, counted to three, and pulled. Or Dean pulled, anyway. Kat was just going through the motions, half hoping Dean might fall down next. But no such luck. Dean moved the kid almost as easily as he'd moved Kat. It was infuriating.

Sam wheezed as he got to his feet. He was gingerly cradling his ribs, which were almost certainly bruised. "Well. Glad that's over."

"Food?" Dean suggested. "Bustin' always makes me kinda hungry."

"Ha, after that? I don't think I wanna eat for another month."

"Aw, cheer up, Sammy. A few good burgers and you could grow up big and strong like your friend there."

"Don't even joke, man." They started the walk back to the Impala, ignoring the curious faces that were peering at them from the bus windows. "Actually, can we do Mexican? I really want…"

"Oh no," said Dean immediately. "No, we're not getting Mexican. Not with your digestive system."

 _"Excuse me?"_

"Dude! We just escaped a ghost case. I don't wanna die cause you farted."

"Ha! That's rich coming from you! Like you've never…"

"Both of you just shut up," Kat snapped. "We are not going to dinner. If we're gonna do anything, we're gonna get my car, and then we're gonna go back to the motel and clear out our shit before someone puts our faces on the news. Capisce?"

The Winchesters pouted at her like twelve-year-olds. Kat took their silence as acceptance and marched ahead to the car, slamming the door as she slid in the back seat. It was like working with children—actual children. She was so glad she had her own car. If she'd started saying things like "capisce" unironically, it was time to get some distance.

By some minor miracle, they were able to get in and out of the bus lot before the cops arrived. The motel was a little closer. Kat had yet to pack up any of her stuff, and the boys rolled out quite a few minutes before she did. She nearly had a heart attack when she heard sirens out on the street. But they flew right by the little motel. As far as they were concerned, the problem was out on the highway. The Winchesters might've been the bane of her existence, but at least they'd been smart enough to hide the Impala from the bus. Once they were in their cars, she doubted anyone would be able to track them down.

She caught up with the boys on the main road and followed them out of town. It felt good to be on the open road. Anything was better than small town high school hell. She was willing to drive for hours to put as much distance between her and that school as possible, but it was only a matter of time before Dean was pulling into the parking lot of some run of the mill rest stop.

Another 24-hour diner. Hooray.

"Well," Kat sighed, sliding into the booth across from them, "at least there's some consistency in this cruel, cruel world."

"Hey, take it where you can get it," said Dean. "That's what I always..."

He trailed off, trading the thought for a charming smile as a young blonde waitress approached their table. The effect was instant. The girl was blushing before she could even open her mouth. Kat refrained from gagging.

"Hi guys! My name's Lauren, I'll be your waitress. How are we doing tonight?"

"Hello there, Lauren. God, I love that name. I gotta say, it's been a rough night, but I am doing a lot better now."

Lauren giggled shyly under Dean's gaze. "Um...is there anything I can...?"

"Can we get a round of beers?" Kat asked. "And if you're ready to take orders, we'll take one Grand Slam breakfast platter with pancakes, eggs scrambled. One double bacon cheeseburger, medium done, extra fries. And Sam?"

"I'm gonna have the burritos, please," he said, smiling smugly at his brother.

Dean was too shocked to argue. He gaped at Kat as the waitress scurried away with their menus.

"Did you just order for me?"

"Yeah. You seemed a little preoccupied, and some of us came here to eat."

"Seriously? And you think that gives you the right to just go ahead and order for me? You just assume you know what I want?"

"Was I wrong?"

He eyed her moodily, and sank back into his seat. "Pickles on the side, not on the bun."

"Right. I'll try and remember that for next time."

It was a different server who brought their drinks. Kat did not miss Dean's accusatory glare. She shrugged innocently, reaching for her beer until Sam cleared his throat. He raised his bottle in a toast.

"So, uh...to a job well done, huh?"

"Here, here," said Dean, knocking their beers together. "Two of my favorite words—case closed."

They both drank, but Kat hesitated. She swirled her bottle before placing it back on the table.

"Does this feel like a win to you guys?"

"Well, yeah," Dean answered. "Ghost gone, no more kids getting possessed or dismembered. And it looks like none of us are going to jail, so. Pretty clean win in my book."

"What's bothering you?" asked Sam.

"I don't know. Mr. McGregor mostly. I mean we just trashed his bus and told the students he's a drug dealer."

"No, that was the other driver," Dean corrected, until he caught her harsh look. "Who we uh...shot and also framed for drug possession. Point taken."

"I mean, even if they don't take that seriously. At some point McGregor is gonna go back to his bus, pull out that Bible, and…the hair isn't gonna be there. The last piece of his son is just gone. Cause we burned it and left it on the side of the road."

"Hey." Dean nudged her beer bottle with his own, actually looking sincere. "That's the job. You know it as well as we do. You can't just leave parts of dead people hanging around. It's not safe. Everyone at Truman is safer now. Hell, McGregor is safer now. It'd only be a matter of time before Dirk turned rabid and jumped his old man."

"I know that. I guess, I spend so much time thinking about the people we save hunting that...I forget there's people we hurt too."

She took a swig from her beer bottle, soaking in the bitter silence.

"Well, maybe it can be a fresh start for him," Sam offered. "Dirk's moved on. It's time his dad did too."

"Sam, you don't just get over your kid dying."

"No, not over it. You never get over it. But you can move forward, right? You learn more, you grow, and you do what you can."

Kat frowned thoughtfully, but clinked her glass with Sam's. It wasn't much of a comfort, knowing that all they could do was accept it and move on. But it was pleasantly jarring to hear her own advice handed back to her. And by Sam Winchester of all people. Maybe they hadn't burned the world down just yet.

Someone's phone rang. Sam jolted in his seat, and moved to take his cell out of his pocket. His eyes widened. A moment later, he was out of his seat and already heading for the door.

"Woah! Where's the fire?" asked Dean.

"What? No, nothing. I just gotta take this."

"Who is it?"

"Uh…Mr. Wyatt. My English teacher, I gave him my number this morning."

"Wait," said Dean, shaking his head. "I thought you said you didn't get to talk to him before Dirk jumped you."

"No, I didn't. Not really. That's why I gave him my number. I'll uh—I'll be right back."

He waved them off, and ducked out of the diner.

"God," Kat sighed, shaking her head down at the table. "If he comes back and tells us there's another body, I am not going back. I refuse."

Dean snickered, peering out the window to watch Sam pace in the parking lot.

"I'm not kidding, Dean. You two can go back. I'm finding the closest motel and waiting it out."

"Would you look at him?" He was clearly paying no attention to her. "All bright eyed and optimistic. Man, I don't know what you said to him, Kat, but it definitely worked."

"What?"

"At the bus lot," he explained, without looking at her. "Whatever you said to him really turned him around."

Kat withered. "God damnit, I knew you were setting us up."

"Wait, what?" Dean's head snapped to her as he scrambled. "No! I'm not setting you up. I just thought—you know, I'm his big brother and you're a..."

"Say I'm a girl. I dare you."

"Well, I was going to say woman..."

He offered her a smirk. It stretched into a smile in light of her glare. He hadn't expected that to get him off the hook.

"Look, Sam was really twisted up about what he said to that kid. And I didn't know what to say. I figured he needed a fresh perspective. Like someone who actually finished high school. Someone who went through all the drama and bullshit without the monsters and the motels and the butterfly knives. You know, someone normal."

"Right," Kat scoffed, turning to the window. "Well I wouldn't describe my high school experience as normal, exactly."

"Yeah, we all know you're not running off to your ten-year reunion."

He regretted it instantly. Kat had barely flinched before he was kicking himself mentally and frantically back-pedaling out loud.

"Shit, I'm—That's not what I meant. Sorry, I just...I know you hated this case, so I thought..."

"Basketcase."

"...What?"

"Basketcase," Kat repeated. She still wasn't looking at him. Just staring out the window with her chin in her hand. "I guess I was a princess too. I started off as one, anyway. But by the end of senior year...I wasn't talking to any of my friends. I was barely going to class. I just hated it all so much."

"Kat. You don't have to tell me anything."

"I know. Still."

She turned to look at him, her face almost impassive as always. But now he could see how hard she was trying.

"You were straight with me when I was grilling you about Hell. I just figured I'd return the favor."

Dean simply nodded. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that. He didn't want to push her to talk and make her uncomfortable, but sitting in silence staring at her was making him uncomfortable. It didn't look like she was steeling herself to admit anything else either, which left them at a standoff.

Daring to test the waters, he cleared his throat.

"Wait. Did you just accuse me of being honest?"

"I would never dream of calling you that," Kat laughed, shaking her head. "But I am trying to be. Honest. So."

She smiled at him. He could see the relief in her face now that he was looking for it, the nervousness in the way she wrapped her arms around her torso. Closing herself in even as she tried to open up.

"You weren't grilling me," he said lowly. "At the Roadhouse. I mean, you made sure you said your piece, but you didn't ask about anything you didn't already know. And uh…if we're trying to be honest here…I think I've known that about you for a while now. The gym, the attitude, the way you talk about the job. Guess it's like you said. Just gotta be smart enough to put two and two together."

He watched her cautiously, but Kat only nodded. She scooped up her beer, nursing a long swig before she continued slyly.

"Right. Or your sap of a brother has a big mouth."

"Hey, it can be both." Kat snorted, and Dean finally let himself breathe. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. Just steer away from high school cases for a while, huh? I don't know if I can take the drama."

"Done," he agreed, knocking their beers together again.

"Oh, and also," she paused, choking down the sip she'd taken, "don't make this weird, okay? I don't want you to treat me any differently. I hate that."

Dean couldn't help the smirk that wormed back onto his face.

"I don't know. You're giving me a lot of room to work here. You sure you didn't hit your head, Tinkerbell?"

"I'm sure," she chuckled. "I'd rather suffer through your eighth grade sex jokes than deal with anyone's pity."

"That's something we can definitely agree on."

They nodded at each other again. Dean felt like a damn bobble-head, but it was easier than actually saying anything. Words were not his department, and all the studying and practicing he did didn't seem to make him any better. But it felt like the conversation was over. They'd both said the minimum, and they could leave it at that. All they could do was move on.

"Just one thing," he said, pausing gravely. "Eighth grade? Really? I feel like I'm at a frat bro level, at least."

Kat laughed, a sound too loud for the empty diner. "Yeah, don't push it, Dean."


	44. Chapter 44

Kat loved jogging. It was a routine she could usually stick to, something that started her day with consistency and gave her something to hold onto when everything else was uncertain. It kept her sane even on her worst days.

Kat did not like jogging in the winter.

The door to the deli burst open as she tumbled inside, the chimes in the doorway jangling so violently that the strings knotted up. Kat waved an apology to the cashier, still too out of breath to answer. She did her best to untangle the ropes, but it was hard when her fingers were so numb. She gave up pretty quickly. Instead she jumped in place, eyes sliding over the menu.

A few minutes later, the door swung open again. Sam instantly zeroed in on the mess of chimes. It only took him a few seconds to fix them.

"There you are," said Kat. "Took you long enough to catch up."

"Sorry, I didn't realize we were sprinting the last leg," he laughed. "Did you really have to run that fast?"

"It's exercise, Sam. You're supposed to push yourself."

"Right, of course."

Kat narrowed her eyes at his knowing smile.

"I'm from California, so shoot me. I'm used to fifty degrees in the winter, not negative twenty."

"It is barely below freezing out there! Don't blame me cause you're underdressed."

"I'm not blaming anyone. I used the weather to motivate me, and it worked. I won, so breakfast is on you."

"Whatever," Sam scoffed, pulling out his wallet. "Maybe I just let you win cause it puts you in a good mood."

"Of course. Right."

They ordered their food and stepped to the side, staying as far from the windows as they could to avoid the chill. Kat bought a hot chocolate as well, and hunched her body over the cup for warmth. Sam didn't bother hiding his snort, but he didn't say anything either. That would only tick her off, and judging by the quiet way he was watching her, that was the last thing he wanted to do.

After several minutes of being observed in silence, Kat snapped at him.

"I'm not having this conversation again, Sam."

"They're just headphones," he argued, without missing a beat. "You can go for one hour without them."

"Yeah, I could. But I don't want to. I run with music. It keeps me focused. That's the point."

"Focused on running, yes, not your surroundings."

"You're really gonna pull the constant vigilance card?" she asked sternly. "Look who you're talking to, Sam. I _know_ I have to be aware of my surroundings. I have trained myself to be aware of my surroundings. I've got it."

"Well, sometimes training doesn't matter." He glanced around the store before lowering his voice. "Kat, you're on the top of a demon most wanted list. I just think you should be more careful. Especially jogging routes you don't know."

"I am being more careful. Isn't that why you're following me around like a guard dog?"

"And what happens if they take me out first? Or if I fall behind?"

"God, it is way too early for your paranoia," Kat groaned.

She returned to her drink, hoping the burn of chocolate on her tongue might make it easier to tune out his voice. Predictably, her lack of enthusiasm didn't faze Sam in the slightest.

"You can make fun of me all you want. I'm just trying to look out for you, in whatever little ways I can. You know, it wasn't that long ago that the thought of demons coming after you scared you into being on the move. You were the one preaching about being a moving target when you left the Roadhouse, not taking any crazy risks. There are demonic omens not all that far from here, and it would only take one slip up for them to…"

"Wait, omens?" Kat held up her hand, stopping his rant with interest for the first time. "Since when are there omens? You didn't tell me that."

"I…just found them this morning."

"Before our run? At six o'clock in the morning?"

Sam pursed his lips at her disbelief. "I was already up. I figured with this new case it was better to check than be sorry."

"And?' she prompted. "Are they close enough to be the source?"

"I don't think so," he sighed, "but that doesn't mean they're too far to be a problem. So please, just consider being more careful."

"Sorry, Sammy. Headphones are non-negotiable." He groaned, and Kat laughed good naturedly. "Come on, what is this world coming to? First I give up my headphones, next you're gonna tell me I can't get my own motel room. And I am not joking, I would rather let demons drag me all over creation than share a room with your brother."

"I understand that. Even I don't want to share a room with my brother."

Sam pulled out his phone, something Kat noticed he'd been doing a lot lately. His jaw tightened to the point that she could see it click under his cheek. And in an instant, it was gone. He turned to her with a grin.

"Hey, why don't you head back? I can grab all of this."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know, just uh…figured it would save some time. You ran faster than me, so you probably need a shower more."

Kat rolled her eyes at the lame joke. It wasn't exactly a subtle excuse to get rid of her. She peered at him, taking note of the way it made him fidget.

"What's up with you, huh? One minute I can't be trusted to use my headphones without getting attacked, and the next I'm cleared to run off on my own?"

"Well I know I'm not winning that battle. Not today, anyway."

He shrugged casually and turned back to the counter. It looked like he was reading the menu, but it was more likely that he was avoiding eye contact. Luckily for him, she more anxious to leave than she was worried about his phone obsession.

"Whatever, weirdo. Just hustle on your way back, huh? Don't let my bagel get cold."

She pointedly slipped her headphones back into her ears as she walked out the door.

Sam had been right about the shower. Well, she couldn't attest to the way she smelled—her nose had been the first thing to go in the frigid temperatures, along with her sense of smell—but the scorching water was able to thaw her body. She changed into her suit for the day, and by the time she headed over to the boys' room, the world had warmed up a little bit.

Dean answered the door as soon as she knocked. He was already dressed in his suit and tie, and his eyes frantically scanned the parking lot behind her.

"Where's breakfast? I'm starving."

"With Sam," she answered, pushing her way past him. It might've been warmer, but she wasn't ready to linger outside. "Is he not back yet?"

"No. I thought he was with you?"

"He was. I headed back to take a shower, he said breakfast was on him."

"So you just left him there?" Dean demanded.

"Sorry?" Kat offered uncertainly. "I didn't realize he was supposed to be on lockdown. Honestly, I didn't want to push. Kinda felt like he was trying to ditch me."

"Yeah, I'll bet he was."

Dean grumbled, sitting down on the end of his bed again. He pulled a handgun out of the duffle bag on the floor and wiped it down methodically. Kat watched him warily as she took a seat at the table. Men with guns were enough cause for concern, let alone when it was an emotional hunter.

"You good?"

"Peachy," he snorted. Kat raised an eyebrow, but he didn't give her a chance to ask. "You notice anything different about Sam lately? Anything off?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. He's always on his phone, for one thing. Texting, calling, not acknowledging it at all. Couple days ago I caught him on the phone in the bathroom, trying not to wake me up."

"Talking to Bobby?" she asked.

"That's what I thought, but Sam never brought it up. He's just sorta…jumpy. Stand off-ish. Like he's got something to hide."

"No offense, Dean, but Sam's been hiding one thing or another the entire time I've known him. Doesn't really jump out as something different."

"Well yeah, to you," he agreed, nodding in ascent. "But not to me. Last time he was hiding something like this, it…well. It definitely wasn't great news."

Dean's jaw clenched, exactly the same way Sam's had at the deli. Kat frowned at the similarity. She hated playing middle man. She was not very good at it.

"Hey," she said with an exaggerated shrug. "Maybe it's not all that bad. Maybe he's just hiding like, a phone sex addiction or something."

Dean's head snapped up painfully fast. He balked.

"Wha…? How dare you make that joke about my brother. I should've made that joke about my brother."

"What joke?"

Sam was back, slipping into the motel room with a large paper bag tucked under his arm. Dean was out of his seat in an instant to snatch it.

"That you're a slow piece of shit. Where's my sandwich?"

He nearly ripped the bag in a rush to open it, and began chucking things around the room by means of distribution. Once he finally got to his precious breakfast sandwich he abandoned the scraps and made a beeline for his bed.

Kat snorted disparagingly, unwrapping her bagel.

"Sorry," Sam said with amusement. "I was on the phone with the sheriff station. They're expecting us in about an hour."

"Ta tah-lk ta tha perps?" Dean asked through a mouthful of egg.

"Yeah. Told 'em we were defense attorneys looking for a tough case. PD said we definitely have our work cut out for us."

"No shit," said Kat. "I wouldn't take this case no matter how much they paid me."

"Really?" asked Dean. "No amount of money?"

"No way. Three guys who killed their wives? Domestic abuse, murder, cheating. They can rot for all I care."

"Well, let's not rush to conclusions," said Sam, taking the chair next to her. "None of these guys have records, and no one saw it coming. We don't know what kind of possession or spell they could be under."

"My mistake. Professionally speaking, they can rot."

Dean snorted from across the room while Sam flipped open his case file.

"I had a feeling you'd say that. So I checked with the hospital for any red flags like you suggested. None of the women were ever checked in with any sort of suspicious injuries, and none of them had any history of mental illness or counselling."

"Doesn't mean it wasn't happening," Kat said moodily.

"I know that. I'm just saying…"

"Woah, woah, woah!" Dean held up his hand, actually abandoning his sandwich to interrupt them. "Kat, don't eat that."

"What?" She looked down at her bagel, which had tasted perfectly normal. "What's wrong with it?"

"Look at it! It's got some—some nasty brown stuff coming out the side. What the hell is that?"

"It's peanut butter."

He blinked at her. "Excuse me?"

"Peanut butter. I always eat it like this."

"Like this? What, with jelly?"

"No, with cream cheese."

"With…?" Dean gagged momentarily. "Just—who hurt you?"

"Fuck you. Peanut butter is a good source of protein!"

"So is bacon! Which is an American breakfast tradition that doesn't go against God!"

Sam cleared his throat. Kat was still fuming, but reluctantly, Dean closed his mouth.

"Excuse me," he hissed. "Please continue to eat your abomination of a bagel."

"Rich coming from the guy who was eating Cheetos and pickles yesterday afternoon."

"So I was looking into their financials," Sam announced pointedly, "not that it helped that much. Small town like this, everyone's shopping at the same places anyway. Did notice one weird thing though. Each of these guys was racking up some serious debt."

"Gambling?" asked Kat, peering over at the paper.

"Doubt it. Not with a name like M&C Entertainment."

"Classic," Dean chuckled into his sandwich.

"I don't get it," said Kat. "What does that mean? Like porn?"

Sam and Dean glanced at each other, both of them shifting uncomfortably.

"Uh, it—it could be," Sam said in a voice slightly too high. "But given the—the frequency of the charges, it doesn't look like an online subscription or anything. I mean, it could be pay as you go, but since these are all the same company I'd…"

"He's telling you it's a strip club," Dean cut in. "Places like that don't usually put the company name on the tab. I go to a place like that, it's pretty likely I don't want the missus to find out. It's all about discretion."

"Huh," Kat drawled thoughtfully. "I'm surprised, Dean. Wouldn't expect you to know anything about that."

"Seriously?" Sam laughed, half choking. "It's not exactly a shocker that Dean likes strip clubs."

"Oh no, I meant discretion. Or the fact that he's ever once looked at his card transactions."

"Hey, this fake card is my fake card," said Dean. "I don't want any other fake people using it. They can get their own scam."

"Alright, well either way," Sam continued. "I think the credit cards are the best lead we've got. We'll go down there, talk to the guys, and hopefully one of them will come clean with a motive."

They finished their food, and an hour later Kat was pulling up behind the Impala outside the precinct. She'd agreed to let Sam and Dean do the talking for this one, if only so no one would look too closely at her ID. She had one or two fake drivers licenses, but they weren't as strong as her federal badges. Of course, letting Dean do the talking always came with consequences.

"Hi there," he greeted the man at the front desk. "Attorneys Nelson and Murdock. This is our assistant Miss Page. We've got a few meetings lined up—Mr. Benson and his friends."

"Good luck with that," the man scoffed. "You're not the first to stop by. These guys don't want to talk to nobody."

"We're hoping to change that," Sam said tightly.

"Whatever, man. Sign in and have a seat. Guard'll lead you back when they bring the prisoners up."

The clerk shoved the book at them, barely glancing at their IDs as they scrawled their fake names onto the paper. Kat released her breath in relief. Sam, on the other hand, grabbed Dean by the jacket and dragged him across to the other side of the waiting room.

"Dude, seriously?"

"What? I thought it was funny."

"Yeah, and that's exactly the kind of shit that'll get us caught!"

"Lighten up," Dean laughed, elbowing Sam in the ribs. "All of our aliases are shit. Besides, Kat's license already says 'Paige.' It was right there!"

"Yeah, well with three references in one go, I'd say that's pretty heavy handed. Even Kat could've caught that."

"Nope," Kat piped up. "No clue what you're arguing about."

"The names," said Dean. "Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law? Protectors of Hell's Kitchen?"

"Okay? Is this another movie reference?"

"Comics," said Sam bitterly.

"Damn, Kit Kat." Dean shook his head, eyes full of shame. "You still have so much to learn."

"Thank God for that."

Worried as Sam might've been, it seemed no one on the Bedford police squad was that into comic books. They passed through security without any issue, and were led to an interrogation room to meet with their potential client.

Adam Benson looked like shit, to put it lightly. His skin was pale and visibly damp, even in the dim room. His hands trembled on the table inside of their cuffs, and he had dark circles under his eyes. It wasn't a stretch to assume that he'd barely slept in the past few days. It was tough for Kat to feel any pity for him. She knew Sam was right, though. There was a fair chance the murder hadn't been his fault. They had to give him a chance at least.

Sam and Dean sat at the table across from him, Kat opting to sit in a chair in the corner. She propped her notebook open and started writing before anyone spoke.

 _Pale, sweaty, sunken eyes, sleep deprived. Side effect of guilt or supernatural influence?_

"Thank you for meeting with us, Mr. Benson," Sam said, switching into his professional front. "My partner and I represent…Nelson and Murdock. Our firm has a strong background in criminal cases, charges of a similar stature. We've been going over your case file, and we think that with the right strategy we could…"

"No."

Benson's voice was cold and hollow, even more so than the interrogation room. His conviction seemed to shake the Winchesters, who exchanged a look.

"Mr. Benson," Dean tried again, but the man cut him off.

"I said no. I keep telling them no. Why does the PD keep sending you guys? I already said I don't want a lawyer."

"They're lining up the firing squad."

"I'm pleading guilty."

Benson finally lifted his head. His face was set with grave resignation. Kat couldn't even see a flicker of fear or pride or malice. Just stony acceptance.

"Alright, look," Dean started again. "You don't want us to represent you, that's fine. In fact, it's probably not a bad idea between you and me."

Sam cleared his throat, prompting Dean to change tactics.

"Um…we just wanna understand what happened. That's all."

"Mr. Benson," Sam added. "Please."

He regarded the boys, then glanced over at Kat in the corner. His eyes lingered for a moment before sinking back to the table. It gave her the look she needed into his head. Underneath that resolution was a haunted void, the kind left behind by things that couldn't be explained.

Benson swallowed thickly, and Kat felt the pity she hadn't been able to summon begin to swell in her chest.

"What happened was…I killed my wife. And you want to know why? Because she made plans without asking me."

"When that happened, how did you feel?" asked Sam. "Disoriented? Out of control?"

"Like something possessed you to do it?" added Dean.

"I knew exactly what I was doing. I was crystal clear."

"Then why did you do it?"

"I don't know. I loved her. We…were happy."

He hung his head again, and Sam looked back to Kat in the corner. She raised an eyebrow and he nodded. It looked like they weren't going to get anywhere without leverage.

Sam elbowed Dean, who pulled the credit card reports from his briefcase. He slid them across the table. Dramatically, he tapped his pen on the bill.

"Nine G's. That's a hefty bill."

Benson froze. "Where did you get that?"

"Doesn't matter. We have it. See certain charges, ones you don't want the missus to know, they show up under shady names like _M &C Entertainment._"

"Yeah, I…don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, you're dropping plastic at a nudie bar, for instance."

"We just want to know the truth, Mr. Benson," said Sam, stepping in as the good cop.

Benson looked down at the paper. Kat wasn't entirely surprised to see his eyes flicker up to meet hers again.

"Does—Does she have to be here?"

"What?" Sam glanced back at Kat as well. "Oh, we can…"

"Yes," Kat said firmly. "I'm not going anywhere."

She held Benson's gaze, staring him down until he had to squeeze his eyes shut tight. He let out a wheezing sigh, which morphed into a broken sob. His hands clenched into fists on the table, and he pressed them against his eyes until he could control his voice.

"Her name was…Jasmine."

"Dude," Dean scoffed. "Her name was _Jasmine_."

"I didn't mean for it to happen," Benson continued. "I don't like to go to strip bars. My buddy was having a bachelor party and…there she was. She came right up to me. And…I—I don't know. S-She was just…perfect. Everything that I wanted."

"Well," interrupted Dean, "you pay enough and anybody will be anything."

"It wasn't about the money," said Benson. His voice was practically shaking with indignation. "It—It wasn't even about the sex. It was…I don't know. I don't know what it was. It's hard to explain."

"And your wife found out?" asked Sam.

"No, she never had a clue."

"Then why'd you kill her?"

Benson didn't answer. It was pretty clear what the answer was going to be, but Kat wanted to hear him say it.

She got up out of her chair in the corner. Sam was already sending her a warning look, which she ignored completely. She dropped her notebook and pen onto the metal table. The sound made Benson jump in his chair. Kat leaned over the table, her hands laid flat, until she was level with his face.

"Why did you kill her?" she asked, her voice quiet bit with a clipped edge to each word. "Say it, Benson. Why did you kill your wife? Why did Vicki have to die?"

"For Jasmine!" He said it in a rush, the words spilling out now. "I did it for Jasmine! She said we would be together forever! If—If only Vicki was…"

"Dead," Kat spat.

Benson let out a shaky breath, keeping his eyes on the table.

"Afterwards, Jasmine and I were supposed to meet and she never showed. I—I don't know where she lives. I don't know her last name. I don't even know her real first name. I…I'm an idiot."

"And you never thought to tell this to the cops?" asked Sam.

"What for?" Benson lifted his head, the eerie determination back on his face. "The stripper didn't do it. I did it. And I know what I deserve. Judge doesn't give me the death sentence I'll just do it myself."

Kat felt Sam tap her on the shoulder, urging her to back off. But the moment she started to move, Benson's head shot up. His eyes locked with hers, but they were no longer void. They were filled with terror and panic.

"You—You look just like her. P-Please, I'm so sorry. Vicki, I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking! I don't…"

He tried to grab her hands, but his cuffs were still chained to the table. They clanked loudly, rattling as he desperately pulled at them. Kat scrambled back in shock. Sam was in front of her in an instant, Dean already out of his chair.

"Alright, I think we're done here. Guard! Can we get some help in here?"

"Please! I need her to know that I'm sorry! I did it, but I'm so, so sorry!"

The door opened for two cops to come hustling inside. They didn't wait for Benson to leave. Sam was already dragging her out of the room and down the hallway for as much distance as they could get.

"Are you okay?"

"I—I'm fine, Sam."

"Are you sure?" He stopped, taking her by the shoulders and scanning her up and down. "The way he jumped at you, I thought…"

"Seriously, I'm fine. He just took me by surprise."

Kat pushed Sam's hands off of her and took a step back. She leaned against the wall, trying to calm her breathing. It wasn't working as well as she would've liked it to. It was hard to breathe calmly when she knew the storm that was due to arrive any second.

Sam ran a hand through his hair, glancing up and down the hall before he turned on her.

"Did you really think it was a smart idea to go after him like that?"

"I wasn't thinking about smart," Kat countered. "I was thinking about results. He killed a woman. He said he did this because of a woman. As I woman, I knew I'd put him on edge."

"Yeah, and look what happened!"

"He talked, Sam. That's what happened. You and Dean clearly weren't getting anywhere with the sympathetic lawyer shtick. So I tried something new."

He sighed. With his hands on his hips and his eyes closed, it made him look like some disappointed parent.

"I just don't think it was necessary. Even if he hadn't lashed back at you, I think it's pretty clear he's got enough on his mind. I just don't want to be responsible for pushing him over the edge. Especially if it's not his fault."

"That the consensus?" Dean was catching up to them, briefcase hastily stuffed under his arm. "I thought it was a little creepy the way he described the stripper girl. Or the way he couldn't describe her."

"Yeah, me too," said Sam. "I mean, between that and the three other guys, it definitely seems like something's up. Kat?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I think it could go either way. This kind of bullshit happens every day, but I get what you mean with the timing. Three women in an area this small. It's probably not just guys inspiring each other."

"You sure you believe that?" Dean asked. "You were going at him pretty hard in there."

Kat pursed her lips, focusing hard on her breathing again.

"Let's focus on the other two husbands," Sam suggested. "We bring up the card charges, see how they take it. If we need to, we use Benson's story as bait and see if they bite."

"Sounds good to me," Dean agreed.

"Alright. Kat, why don't you head over to the hospital? Sheriff said there was only one doctor available for the autopsies, so you can…"

"Excuse me?"

Sam stopped to look at her. "What?"

"You know exactly what."

"I don't," said Dean.

"Sam, you do not get to send me off to the hospital because you think I can't handle this."

"Hey, that's—that is not what I said. And it's not what I meant."

"Yes, it is! You were just going on about my dumb choices, and pushing him over the edge. You don't think I can control myself in there."

"I never said that."

"But that is what you think."

He floundered for a moment as she glowered at him, then threw his arms up. "Fine! Yeah, I think you got ahead of yourself. You'd never treat someone who was possessed that way. He's just as much of a victim as…"

"Oh, as his dead wife? Well maybe he shouldn't have started having an affair with a stripper!"

"We don't know that he did! Which is _why_ we have to do these interviews! You just can't take your bias out of…"

"Woah! Okay, okay!" Dean stepped between the two of them. He fished into his pocket for the car keys and pushed them firmly into Sam's hands. "Dude, just go check out the hospital, alright? You've already got the info on the doc. Kat and I will stay here and wrap up the meet and greets."

"Dean…"

"Hey, I said we got it. I think Kat's onto something with the whole chick thing. It could definitely put them on edge enough to let something slip. Flip side I can send her out of the room and boost the good cop thing."

Sam did not look thrilled by this sound logic, but he wasn't dumb enough to argue. He humphed, double checking the papers in his bag and the cell phone in his pocket. Then he gave them both a stiff nod and headed back for the parking lot.

Kat watched him leave, chewing on her tongue.

"You good?" Dean asked her.

"Yeah. I just really hate your brother."

"Okay. Who do you think you hate more? Him or me?"

"It changes by the hour."

Dean chuckled, gently tugging her arm. "Come on. We got a couple minutes before they pull the next bozo out of his cell. Walk it off, Kit Kat."

They did a lap around the precinct, walking with enough confidence to avoid any probing questions. Dean was kind enough to keep his mouth closed for once. Kat could only imagine that was a bad sign. Whatever came out when he opened it again was sure to be extra revolting. But for the moment she was able to enjoy the peace, really focus on letting her frustration ebb away. Her hands began to relax at her sides.

When they looped back to the lobby, Kat stopped them at the vending machine. She was fishing her wallet out of her purse when Dean coughed awkwardly.

"So, not that I'm looking to get my ass beat in the middle of the precinct, but are you sure you're good to go back in there?"

Kat rolled her eyes so hard that it hurt. "I said I'm fine, Dean."

"Yeah, I heard you. I also know that in this line of work, 'fine' doesn't mean squat. I get where you're coming from with the whole righteous anger thing, but Sammy's got a point. We don't know that these guys were in control of their actions. You jumping down their throats isn't gonna change that."

"I know that." She fumbled with a dollar bill, the paper stalling in her hands. "Shit like this just drives me up the wall. Men who cheat and treat women like they're disposable. Monsters who _know_ men treat women like that and just take advantage of it. The world's just…really fucked sometimes."

"I hear ya," he agreed. "But no one's getting off on this case. If the guys did it, the judge'll sentence 'em fair and square. And if the monster made them do it, we'll fix that too."

"It doesn't change anything," Kat said bitterly. "Adam Benson and his wife will be dead either way."

"Yeah. But if it means Laura and Lester whatever the hell get to live another day, it's worth it, right?"

Kat nodded stiffly. Some days it just felt like she couldn't do enough.

She shoved her dollar into the machine, punching the keys with too much force and glaring at her chocolate bar as it inched for the edge of the shelf. Dean tutted next to her.

"Damn. I don't know about that choice, Kat. A case with killer strippers, you might want to go on a liquid diet."

"What the hell does that mean?"

Dean beamed with pride, leaning one shoulder against the machine. He watched her almost predatorily, waiting until she'd retrieved her candy bar to hold up one solitary finger.

"One word— _dodgeball._ "

Kat's jaw dropped.

"What? No! No, no, no, no, no! No way!"

"Hey, those were the rules. Fair and square."

"Fuck you!"

Several people in the lobby turned to stare at them. Dean laid his finger over his lips, shushing her with childish glee. She wrenched his arm out of the air and lowered her voice to a deadly hiss.

"You said nurse costume."

"And you said next case," he said innocently. "If the job requires, of course. But if the perp's at a strip club…"

"No fucking way. Undercover nurse is a lot different than undercover _stripper._ I am not doing it."

"You sure?" He grinned, tugging on a loose strand of her hair. "You'd look cute with bunny ears."

He had to have seen it coming. Either he was enjoying himself too much to care, or he'd severely underestimated how hard she was going to hit him. Kat's fist slammed into his side and Dean doubled over. Even through his groans he still managed to keep laughing. Kat huffed, stomping for the exit, only for Dean to scramble back in front of her.

"Oh, come on! It was a joke! Where are you going?"

"Back to the motel. You can call a damn taxi."

"But you get to be bad cop! You don't wanna miss that. Everyone wants to be a bad cop! Uh—no offense, officers." Dean nodded awkwardly at a group of passing cops, who barely even acknowledged him. He wiped most of the glee from his face, stepping toward Kat with his hands up in surrender. "I'll even let you lead, huh?"

Kat considered him, grinding her teeth. "For both interviews."

"Lead on the first," he bargained. "Second, we'll see."

"Fine. But I'm bad cop in both."

"There's no one I would trust more to scare two men into submission with her glare alone."


	45. Chapter 45

The Taylor County Medical Center was smaller than Kat ever could have expected. She'd seen vets clinics that were bigger—and their patrons took up a lot less space. But it made it easy to navigate and even easier to find Sam.

Kat followed Dean through the deserted lobby, where he flashed a smile at the RN behind the desk.

"Hi there. I'm looking for the office of Dr. Cara Roberts? Trying to catch up with my partner Agent Stiles."

"Can I see some ID?"

"For a pretty face like that, you can see…uh…you can…" Dean trailed off, patting down his jacket pockets. "Sorry, just uh…just a sec. I thought I had it…"

Kat rolled her eyes, edging him aside so she could flash her own badge at the skeptical woman.

"FBI Agent Paige, and my…unfortunate trainee Agent Murdock. They gotta stick the probies with someone right?"

The woman snickered, copying down a few details from Kat's card. Kat turned over her shoulder to smirk at a very grumpy Dean.

"And Murdock? Next time you beg me to let you take point on an investigation, make sure you've still got your badge in your pocket."

"Yeah, whatever."

"Excuse me? Is that anyway to talk to your supervisory agent?"

"Sorry, _ma'am,_ " he sneered. "Sir, boss, whatever. Can we go now?"

"Dr. Roberts' office is around the corner to your right," the woman instructed. "Your partner should still be in the meeting."

They nodded their thanks and headed down the hallway. Kat furtively grabbed Dean's elbow, right before he could jab it into her ribs.

"Don't be such a baby. You're the one who forgot your ID."

"Yeah, cause we took your stupid car! I hate your stupid car!"

"Dean, you could've been riding in a taxi. Doesn't change the fact that you forgot to take your badge out of the trunk."

"Which wouldn't be a problem if I was driving _my car!"_

"God, you are insufferable," Kat groaned. She plastered on a smile as she opened the door to the office. "Hey, sorry we're late. What'd we miss?"

Sam sat back abruptly from the desk, clearing his throat. He was sitting across from a pretty brunette woman dressed in a lab coat. She, at least, didn't bother to hide her flirty smile as her eyes lingered on Sam.

"Oh, hey!" said Sam. "Ah, these are my partners Agents Paige and Murdock."

"Please, 'agent' sounds so formal," Dean chuckled, side stepping Kat. "You can call me Dean."

"Right. I'm Dr. Roberts."

He shot the woman a charming smile and offered her his hand. She took it reluctantly, her smile turning tight and professional before Kat could even blink. Kat repressed a snort.

"Okay, heel, probie." She pulled Dean back, shaking hands with Dr. Roberts herself. "Agent Paige. Thanks for meeting with us."

She took the chair next to Sam and pulled out her notebook. She ignored the way Dean kicked the back of her seat as he was left to stand.

"Not a problem," said Dr. Roberts, turning back to Sam. "So um…can I help you with anything else?"

"Uh, sure. Just one more thing. This chemical, this…"

"Oxytocin."

"…oxytocin, what would cause those high levels that you found?"

"Nothing that I've ever seen," she admitted.

"Sorry, is this in the husbands or the wives?" asked Kat, pulling out her notebook. "I hate to make you guys backtrack, but…"

"The husbands," Dr. Robert confirmed. "I was just telling Agent Stiles here that it's colloquially known as the love hormone."

"Well they definitely weren't feeling a lot of love when they were arrested," Dean joked.

Not a single one of them laughed, and Dean moodily shut his mouth again.

"A hormone," Kat clarified, "so is that something that could have been isolated and injected? Some kind of drug?"

"Well sure, but I'm not sure why. Oxytocin is one a thousand chemicals that help produce pleasure and positivity in the body. I don't know that raised levels of just one would have any correlated effect."

"You said that it's produced in uh…sex," Sam offered. "Is there any way that dosing them would have made them more suggestible? Easily manipulated?"

"What, you think someone told them to do it?" Dr. Roberts laughed, eyeing him openly. "Oxytocin might make some butterflies, but it's not a mind control drug. Just cause you make a girl's heart skip a beat doesn't mean she'll let you boss her around without buying her dinner first, Agent Stiles."

Kat smothered a smirk, staring strictly down at her notebook as Sam fidgeted next to her. Dean huffed, slapping the backs of their chairs.

"Well, thank you so much, Dr. Roberts. This has been…enlightening, but we don't want to take up any more of your time."

"Actually," said Kat, "I had a few more questions about this chemical if…"

"You can Google it. Let's go."

Dean hauled her out of her chair, and looked pointedly at Sam until he followed suit. Still, he stopped in the doorway to look back on his new friend. "By the way, try a greasy breakfast. Best thing for a hangover."

"Watch it, buddy," Dr. Roberts giggled. "I'm the only MD here."

Sam grinned at her and finally joined them in the hallway. He rolled his eyes at their pointed looks—Kat's teasing, and Dean's affronted.

"Dude," he scoffed. "You totally c-blocked me."

"Right," Kat snorted, leading the way back to the lobby. "If that's short for courtesy blocking."

"Excuse me?"

"Come on, she was definitely not interested in you. You were embarrassing yourself."

"I was— _excuse_ _me?"_

"She was feeling the mop hair. You're just miffed that Sam's got more game than you."

"Ew, don't say it like that. He was dating your sister."

"I rest my case."

"Guys," Sam groaned. "Can you stop talking about me like I'm not here?"

"Sorry, Sammy." Kat reached up and patted him on the shoulder, still chuckling as they walked out into the cold sunlight.

Sam watched her glide down the sidewalk in amusement. "Why are you in such a good mood suddenly?"

"Of course she's in a good mood," Dean grumbled. "She got to terrorize men for an hour. Myself included."

"What'd you guys find out?"

"Well, Whylie and Snyder definitely did it," said Kat. "Confessed to the murders without a fuss, and to the affairs."

"Expensive affairs," Dean added. "One emptied his IRA, the other his kid's college fund. All on the same thing."

"Live nude girls?" asked Sam.

"Yup. Club called The Honey Wagon."

"And let me guess—all of them were cheating with a stripper also known as Jasmine?"

"Nope," sighed Kat. She stripped ahead for her car, parked in front of the Impala. "Since when are cases with you two ever that easy?"

"Well, who wants easy when you can have interesting?" Dean chuckled.

"Hm, at a guess—you, every time you go to a bar?"

He glared at her and turned back to Sam. "See, each dude was banging a different chick. Name, hair, ethnicity. Whole shebang."

"So, what? These girls are all connected somehow?"

"Well they all described their stripper in the same way, the exact same way. Perfect, and everything they wanted."

"Yeah," Sam scoffed. "At least until Dream Barbie convinced them to murder their wives."

"There's that."

"You know, it's almost like they're under some kind of love spell."

"Sure seems that way."

"Which caused them to become totally psychotic."

"Absolutely!"

Dean was beaming as he unlocked his own car, impervious to Kat's look of revolution. Sam looked between them doubtfully.

"Wait, so now it's your turn to be in a good mood?"

"Strippers, Sammy," said Dean wistfully. "Strippers. We are on an actual case involving strippers. _Finally."_

Without further ado, he winked at Kat and bounced into the driver's seat of the car. Kat didn't even have the energy to flip him off. She pouted at Sam, who at least had the compassion to look sympathetic.

"Guess I know where we're going, huh?"

"Yeah," he said gently. "Sorry, Kat."

"Do I really have to come?"

"Yeah, I think so." She was about to climb into her car when he called her back. "I um…I'm sorry I was hard on you at the precinct. You did a good job getting the confessions, and I think you were right about this case. Needing a…well…"

"Needing a woman?" she finished for him. Sam nodded sheepishly, and she rolled her eyes. "I'm flattered. Very excited to be the voice of reason while you two horn-out over strippers. I'll meet you there."

The Honey Wagon was technically a few towns over. It took them nearly an hour to get there. Still, Kat took her sweet time driving to the club. She knew that she was only delaying the inevitable, but she was having a tough time motivating herself to move when she knew what was waiting for her at the end of the trek. She might even have stopped for food if it hadn't been a murder case. That's what she focused on as she pulled through each intersection. It was the only lead they had, and if they didn't act fast, another dumbass could murder his innocent wife. If that meant that she had to wade through strip club, then that was what she'd have to do.

Even if Dean Winchester was going to be there too.

"Finally!" he shouted the moment she stepped out of her car. "Chop chop, Kit Kat. We've got a case to solve."

"Hold up," she said, looking around. "Where's Sam?"

"Where d'ya think? He's on the phone. Again."

They headed around from the parking lot to the front of the building. It wasn't anything special. A black brick building with flashy neon lights, and one of those tacky signs of a naked woman with stars over her tits. Kat scrunched her nose at the ten or so people waiting on the sidewalk. She hadn't expected there to be a line. It was barely dinnertime.

Dean flashed his badge at the door, and the bouncer waved them through without any questions.

It was unbearably loud. The club music must've been rattling the rafters, not that it was possible to hear anything like that between the classic rock beat and the peals of laughter on every side of them. Red and blue neon lights crisscrossed over the ceiling, wrapping around strobe lights, spotlights, flood lights galore. The bar stretched out on their left, a balcony of tables and servers on their right, and in the valley between, ten to fifteen different island stages, each with a pole and a girl performing gymnastic feats that could barely be fathomed. The entire building was full of people—sipping drinks, getting lap dances, waving money, and enjoying the entertainment.

It only took one look to confirm that Dean was in heaven.

"Oh, yeah," he sighed blissfully. "Daddy's home. Come on, Kat. We've got a lot of canvasing to do."

Kat looked around disparagingly, but followed him into the fray.

"I have a question!" Kat wasn't sure if Dean could hear her over the music, but he waved over his shoulder, which she took as confirmation. "What is a place like this doing in a community this small? I mean, cities I get, but here?"

"What else have they got to do?" he called back to her. "You rather go cow-tipping or get your rocks off? I—Sorry, please don't answer that. That was rhetorical."

She punched him in the back, which she could feel was shaking with laughter. The hit barely fazed him. He was too busy staring at the dancers with shining admiration.

"I meant the population size," she corrected. "You said most places are looking for anonymity, right? Wouldn't you be afraid of bumping into someone you knew?"

"Yeah, I guess that's always up for debate. But what are you gonna do? If someone sees you, they know you've seen them. Vegas rules, baby. What happens at the strip club, stays at the strip club."

This silenced Kat for a while. She followed Dean around the club, staring up at the different girls on the platform, peering into the faces of the waitresses as they passed. The perps hadn't given them much to go on in their descriptions—they were far too busy being rapturously in love to notice something as trivial as appearances—but they'd given a rough estimate for height and hair color.

The problem was that there were a _lot_ of girls, and not a lot of light. It wouldn't have helped much anyway. Not that Kat was one to judge, but most of the girls had heavy stage makeup and hair extensions, all part of the job. It wouldn't be difficult for one girl to become another in the dim, alcohol-soaked club. How hard was it to don a wig and a pair of heels?

Kat kept this thought to herself. She had another question, but it wasn't one that she wanted to ask. She could wait around until she got the answer the hard way, or she could hold her breath and get it over with. Rip it off like a bandaid. That was the option she went with.

"So how do we do this?"

"Do what?" asked Dean absently. Most of his attention was on the pretty blonde schoolgirl who had just taken the stage in front of them.

"This, uh…this undercover thing. I mean, naughty schoolgirl, slutty nurse, barely-there cowgirl. Do I at least get to pick, or is that up to you?"

Now Dean was looking at her. His brow was deeply furrowed, his mouth agape. He searched her face and almost smiled, but his lips never made it all the way.

"Kat, I…I wasn't being serious."

"You weren't?"

"Wha—no! No, of course not. Look, I—I know I'm a dick, but I'm not a complete asshole. What with all the—the guys and the costumes and the dancing. Just, no. I would never ask you to do something like that, no matter what the deal was."

"Oh." Kat fumbled with her words. He'd gone from horny to genuine so quickly it was alarming. "Well, um…thanks."

"Yeah, you got it." He nodded stiffly, and looked around the bar. "And these guys, I mean. I can't even imagine how these girls put up with it. I'm not gonna dangle you in front of a bunch of desperate, horny losers."

"Careful there, Dean. That's pretty self-incriminating."

He whipped around to look at her again, but relaxed when he saw her teasing smile. "Please. I have a professional interest in the matter. That's it."

"Uh huh. Right. Well, I don't know about you, _Agent_ , but I haven't seen anyone that matches these descriptions we got."

"Nah, me either." He craned his neck to look over the crowd, then tapped her on the shoulder. He pointed across the room to a short, balding man in a sports jacket. "Think that's the manager? Could always try our luck with him."

"Yeah, you go ahead. I think I'll steer clear, try my luck at the bar."

"What? Why?"

"He owns a strip club, Dean," Kat said, deadpan. "I doubt he responds well to women in positions of power."

Dean cocked his head in agreement, and they split ways to wade through the crowd.

Luckily for Kat, most of the mob was in the middle of the club. The men thinned out as she approached the bar, but she still had to elbow her way to get a stool. She flagged down the bartender with a wave—a tiny Asian girl in a little black dress. The woman barely looked at her.

"Dressing room's in the back, sweetheart."

"Flattered, but I'm actually here for a shot of tequila," Kat said, forcing a smile. "Well, and the girls."

The bartender raised an eyebrow, the shaker in her hand falling still. "Wait. _You're_ Sapphic?"

"Ha! Uh, sure. That's one way to put it."

"Sorry," the girl replied with a grin. "Most girls aren't into this kinda scene. You know there's a gay bar on the other side of town, right?"

"I did not. Unfortunately, I'm not on the market. I'm actually looking for my girlfriend? She dances here, goes by Jasmine?"

"Hm, not ringing any bells. We get a lot of turnover in places like this."

"Fair enough. She's usually running with two other girls—Aurora and Ariel?"

"I'm not surprised," the bartender said with a laugh. "All those Disney-type girls, they tend to run in cliques."

Kat smirked. "Not your style, I take it?"

"Not really." She offered her hand, her excessive bangles clinking gently. "Diana."

"Kat," she replied, accepting the shake. "So are you just a fan of pretty names, or is there some reference I'm not getting?"

"Roman goddess of virginity. I like the irony."

"Wow. She's pretty, smart, _and_ witty. You must be quite the catch, Diana."

"More than you know."

She winked, grabbing a shot glass and pouring out Kat's tequila. Kat reached for the glass, but only got to brush Diana's hand before the woman retracted the shot and tossed it back herself. Then she poured a second into the glass and slid it over to Kat.

"It's a shame you're spoken for. That one's on me."

With a sultry smile, Diana retreated to the other end of the bar, returning to the customers she'd been neglecting. Kat couldn't help but frown appreciatively. She still wasn't a fan of these kinds of clubs. But the women were definitely good at their jobs.

She grabbed the shot, but barely lifted it before she was interrupted again.

"Isn't there some rule about not drinking on the job?" asked Sam, sidling up to the bar.

"Probably," Kat said with a pout. "But it was free."

"Kat."

She rolled her eyes, pushing the alcohol away. "Like you two ever abstain on a case."

"I always try to. Can't speak for Dean, I guess. Where is he?"

"Talking to the manager," she said, nodding toward the pair. Even from this distance, she could tell Dean's annoyance was mounting. "Looks like he's not having much more luck than me. What about you? Who called?"

"Bobby. Come on."

He waved to Dean over the crowd, and lead Kat over to a slightly more private table along the wall. A minute later, Dean joined them.

"You know what sucks? Knowing the people in charge of such a great place fucking suck."

"Welcome to my life," said Kat. "No dice?"

"Nope. What about you two?"

"A little," said Sam. "I just talked to Bobby, and we officially have a theory—a siren."

"Like Greek myth siren?" asked Dean. "The Odyssey?"

Sam and Kat both turned to him in surprise, and Dean shrugged.

"Hey, I read."

He punctuated this with a wink to Kat, who rolled her eyes. "Great. Can someone do a recap for those of us who didn't do our book reports?"

"They're beautiful creatures that prey on men," Sam explained. "Some myths describe them as women crossed with birds, others as women crossed with fish."

"Like a killer Little Mermaid," Dean added.

"Okay," said Kat. "So what's their MO?"

"Well, we haven't run into one before," said Sam. "In the stories, sirens lived on islands, and they would sing a kind of song to lure passing sailors."

"Let me guess, 'Welcome to the Jungle,'" Dean snorted. "No, wait. Warrant's 'Cherry Pie.'"

"They're women, Dean," Kat scoffed. "I think they've probably got better taste in music than you."

"Hey, they're trying to lure men. Take a look around, sweetheart. That's what guys like."

"Well actually the song's probably more of a metaphor," Sam interrupted, "for like their call, their allure."

"Fine. So they shake their thing and the guys zombie out."

"Basically, yeah. The sirens would sing, sailors would chase 'em, completely ignoring the rocky shores, and…dash themselves to pieces."

"Sounds like Adam and his friends," Dean conceded.

"But why do they do it?" asked Kat. "I mean, do they absorb the life force or something? Eat the bodies?"

"No one knows," answered Sam. "None of the lore talks about anything like that, so most scholars say they were just doing it for kicks. Watching men destroy themselves for fun."

"Huh. Good for them."

"Yeah," said Dean, giving her a pointed look. "Not so good for the wives. Looks like this siren's stepped up their game."

"Seems like it," Sam agreed. He looked around the bar with the same distaste at Kat. "If you were a siren in '08 looking to ruin a bunch of morons, where would you set up shop?"

"Okay, but none of these women look like mermaids," said Kat, glancing at the different dancers. "Or bird women. Wouldn't that be kind of hard to hide?"

"Well sirens can cloak themselves," said Sam. "Otherwise the sailors never would have jumped off the boat either."

"So what?" asked Dean. "Whatever floats the guy's boat, that's what they look like?"

"Yeah. See, sirens can read minds. They see what you want most, and then they can change to reflect it. Kinda like an illusion."

"So it's like the shifter case," said Kat. "Everyone thinks it's three different things, but it's just one creature morphing into different girls."

"Exactly," Sam said with a small smile. "Just like the shifter case."

"Alright, so do we kill it like a shifter?" asked Dean. "How do we get rid of this thing?"

"Bobby's working on it," Sam sighed. "But even if we do figure it out…"

"How the hell are we gonna find it?" asked Dean. "Could be anyone."

"Well, there's one easy way to canvas," Kat suggested. "Dean buys a lap dance from every stripper in the club and we kill the one he likes best."

Sam snorted as Dean glowered at her. "Ha, ha. You're cute. Thank you."

"In the meantime," she said, grabbing her coat, "I'm heading back to the hotel. I'm starved, and clearly I have a lot of Greek mythology to read up on."

"Hey, can I catch a lift?" asked Sam.

"Yeah, sure. I was thinking Chinese food?"

"God, that sounds great right now. I'm starved."

"Whoa, hold on," Dean snapped as they tried to leave the table. "Why are you riding with Kat? The Impala not good enough for you anymore?"

"Uh…no," Sam said uncertainly. "I just figured I'd leave you the Impala so you didn't have to call a cab."

"What do you mean? I'm coming with you. Like Kat said, we got homework to do."

Sam stared at him for a few seconds before he actually started to laugh.

"Dude, a few hours ago you were practically skipping you were so excited to be on a case with strippers. I figured you'd basically be moving in until it was case closed."

"Well, excuse me, but I—I have professional standards. Where the hell are yours?"

He did not love the way the both Sam and Kat raised their eyebrows at that, or how poorly they were smothering their smiles.

"Gee, sorry," said Sam. "Didn't realize you felt so passionately about it."

"Damn right, I do."

"Awesome," said Kat. She patted the top of the bar table with finality. "Then you can use those lap dance savings of yours, buy us dinner, and we'll meet you back at the hotel."

"My…? Yeah. I can do that. Sure."

They were both grinning superiorly as they headed out of the club, leaving him alone and regretful at their table. Dean looked longingly toward the stage, where a woman in a skimpy cop uniform had just joined the cast of dancers. But he bit his tongue and grabbed his jacket.

"Idiot," he grumbled to himself. "Always trying to make a point."


	46. Chapter 46

Kat wished she could say the next morning was warmer, but it would have been a lie. Every one of her nerve endings screamed against the thought of going outside. Luckily, Kat's determination won out. She bundled herself up with an extra sweatshirt and pushed herself to finish the stretch as fast as humanly possible. Sam could go fuck himself if he couldn't keep up. It was cold as shit out there.

She was the first to make it to the deli. Rather than waiting to gloat, she put in the same order they'd gotten the day before. She was looking forward to a warm shower and some fresh clothes, and wanted to get back ASAP. However, when the food came out, Sam was still nowhere to be seen.

After a few minutes, she resigned herself to choosing a table to wait for him. She picked carelessly at her bagel, keeping an eye on the door. But there was nothing. Pulling out her phone, she dialed in Sam's number only for it to go straight to voicemail. She tried again. This time it rang, but ended it up with the same conclusion. That was concerning enough.

Kat looked casually around the store. The cashier that had been watching her averted his eyes, returning to his work. Whatever that work was. There weren't any customers in the store. The previous day hadn't exactly been packed, but there'd definitely been a line. Now it was just…empty.

"Excuse me?" She caught the cashier's attention again, holding up her phone. "I'm gonna step outside to make a call. Can I leave my stuff here?"

He waved her off, and Kat stepped out into the cold again. She tucked her phone back into her pocket.

The parking lot was just as blank as the store. One beat-up silver car, parked on the other end of the lot. No one was milling down the street. No one was standing outside the other shops. No one looked to be standing in them either.

Her eyes fell on a dumpster at the back of the store. The one open lid was rattling softly, which could have been the breeze. Or not.

Kat picked her way down the building, keeping her back to the wall and her feet light on the asphalt. She was bracing herself for the corner—to jump around and find the siren, or a raccoon, or limp garbage bag. She was probably being paranoid. It was easy to get jumpy as a hunter. Everything could be a threat, anything a trap in disguise, or…

She heard it take a breath. And then it jumped.

Kat dropped instinctively, dodging the arms that grabbed for her throat. She landed a solid punch to the groin that knocked the wind out of her assailant, and wasted no time in taking out the knees next. She bound the arms, pushing her knee into the back, and had already pinned him down by the time she recognized the back of the Stanford t-shirt.

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you, Sam?"

"Ow, sorry! Just let me up!"

"No! What happened to you? Is this the siren?"

"No, I—ugh—I'm fine, Kat. Just bruised, now."

Kat yanked his arms back harder, making him wince. "If you're not being brainwashed, why the hell would you attack me?"

Sam's groan petered out into a resigned sigh, and he squeezed his eyes shut before answering.

"I was trying to make a point about protecting yourself on jogs. But clearly you've got it under control."

"No fucking shit, Sherlock."

She gladly would have kept him pinned there for the rest of the afternoon, but it was already getting too cold. She got to her feet and grudgingly dragged him upright. At the very least she was able to cherish the pain on his face.

"Hey," she said, brandishing a finger in his face. "Constant vigilance."

Then she punched him, and walked back into the deli.

"Honestly, Sam. I can't believe you'd make such a big deal out of trying to show me up. I mean, hanging back and waiting outside until _maybe_ I got suspicious and came to look for you? I wasn't even wearing my headphones. What a waste."

"It was more spur of the moment," he grunted, taking the seat across from her at the table. "I got held up on the phone. Tried to tell you, but you had your music too loud."

"Whatever. What is it with you and your phone anyway? Feel like I should glue it to your hand at this point."

"Business," Sam assured her sourly. "Got a call from the chief of police? They brought in another guy this morning."

"Great. Another asshole cheating on his wife?"

"Nope. Get this—he killed his mom."

"Oh?" Kat paused mid-bite to raise an eyebrow at him. "That's definitely new. Sure he's one of ours?"

"Should be. He's describing the same kind of trance, lack of motive. Definitely had the same overkill. Kinda glad we're doing the whole lawyer thing. Chief said the house wasn't pretty."

"Ergh, spare me the gore. I guess you wanna talk to the guy? This…?"

"Lenny Bristol," Sam finished. "Yeah, figured we'd stop back at the hotel, take a peek through his finances, and stop by the station. If you're up for talking to another perp."

The apology was clear in his big brown puppy dog eyes, so she decided to let him off the hook for the time being.

"Sure. Just try and keep up with me this time, huh, Winchester?"

Kat pointedly put her headphones back on, slapped him roughly on the shoulder, and jogged out the door.

Back at the hotel, she was able to get to her shower and fresh clothes. She felt better, but honestly the cold hadn't bothered her that much after her throw down with Sam. He was an idiot, but fighting was certainly one way to keep warm and moving. She was almost chipper as she knocked on his hotel door to collect him.

"Hey, Sammy! Let's roll."

"Uh, yup! Just gimme a sec!"

Kat rolled her eyes, but leaned up against the wall to wait for him. She couldn't hear any kind of rummaging inside, no sounds of a rush. So she waited a minute or two before pounding on the door again.

"Come on, Sam. I might have all day, but these perps don't. 'Specially if they're facing death row."

"I know! I'll be there in a minute! Just trying to finish…"

He grumbled something unintelligible. Kat glared at the door, waiting in vain for any further explanation or reassurance. Impatiently, she knocked again. She waited three more seconds, and knocked again. And again. And then decided that she wouldn't stop. She could do this all day.

The door swung open, and suddenly her wrist was in a vice grip.

"You touch this door again," growled a very sleepy Dean, "and I will end you."

"Wow. Don't be a baby."

"I'm not being a baby. You're a baby, baby."

Kat fully intended to argue her point, but Sam was already pushing his way between them and into the hall. He shoved a stack of papers into his briefcase and frantically patted down his hair.

"Sorry, sorry. You ready to go?"

"No, Sam. I thought I'd wait for you so I could have company blow drying my hair."

"Yeah, okay. Let's roll."

The hotel door slammed behind them before they'd even made it a foot down the hall.

"Detective Daredevil's not joining us?" asked Kat, leading the way to the parking lot.

"Nah. Dean's anything but a morning person. And he'll take a fight to the fed suit any day."

"Well _that_ I can agree with."

"Hang on," he chuckled. "You, agreeing with Dean? And since when do you know what Daredevil is?"

"Hey, I know how to use Google. Had to do something while I was waiting on your lazy ass."

"Sorry," Sam apologized yet again as they climbed into the Prius. "I was trying to look through Bristol's finances, but the whole thing is like a wormhole."

"Worse than the other two?"

"Yeah, that's for sure."

"Great," Kat huffed. "So what? Was he banging more than one stripper?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. But the guy had like six credit cards, a bunch of late bills, bounced checks. It was hard to sort through everything. He was definitely having financial trouble."

"Okay, so what was he spending it on? Gambling, drugs…?"

"Hospital bills," Sam said gravely. "Or equipment anyway. No record of extended visits, of hospice care. From what I can tell he was taking care of his mom on his own."

"Yeah," she snorted bitterly, pulling out of the parking lot. "He took care of her alright."

"Kat…"

"Whatever. You find the club charges?"

"Yeah, eventually. It's not as much as the other guys though. I don't know if that means that Lenny was easier to sway, or just that our siren's changing her timetables."

"Guess there's no time to waste then, is there?"

Kat urged the car to go a little faster, something that took several seconds to do. The engine wasn't the most responsive when it came to speed. This didn't go unnoticed by Sam. Thankfully, he kept his amusement to himself. It was a Prius, after all.

Checking in at the station was faster this time around. It seemed like the local defense attorneys were beginning to give up on the whole situation. Lenny Bristol had already been in custody over twelve hours, and they were the only legal team there to meet with him. The guard walked them right back to the interrogation room, where Bristol was already waiting inside. Kat was ready to dive in, but Sam grabbed her wrist before she could open the door.

"Hey, can we…? I just want to take it slow on this one."

"What do you mean?" asked Kat. "We're not exactly swimming in time here, Sam."

"No, I know. It's just…this guy doesn't seem like the others to me. You know, he wasn't married, he wasn't cheating, he didn't have any crazy spending problems. He was just a guy in the wrong place at the wrong time. So maybe we can get his side of the story before you…um…"

"Jump down his throat," Kat finished sourly. "I get it. Compassion, understanding, best behavior. After you."

Lenny Bristol didn't look all that different from the other men they'd interviewed. He had the same washed out skin, nervous hands, and haunted, sunken eyes. But there was something about his face—Kat couldn't put her finger on it—that said this was a more permanent expression. This was not the result of one single night in jail. This was just the result of Lenny's life.

He did not look up when Sam and Kat walked into the room. He did not look up when they sat down at the table across from him. He did not look up when Kat flipped open her notebook, or when Sam said his name. He did not look up until Kat rapped her knuckles against the table, and he looked so surprised that even Kat had to wonder how long they'd been sitting there.

"I didn't mean to," he said immediately. "I don't know why I…I would never have…"

"Mr. Bristol," Sam said gently, "we're…very sorry for your loss."

"My _loss?"_ The man looked between them, half-crazed. "I—I was the one who… How could…?"

His eyes were tearing up, and Kat diverted her gaze down to her notebook. Benson's dead-eyed acceptance had been unsettling, but this was somehow worse. Bristol hadn't made it through any of the stages of grief. He was only eighteen hours out from murdering his own mother. None of this was real to him yet.

"We know this must be difficult," continued Sam. "In situations like this, it always is. We just want to understand what happened."

"What is there to understand?" Bristol choked out. "I…I killed her. I killed my own mother."

"We just want to know why."

"W-Why? I don't—I don't know why! I have never even—I never thought about…!"

He dissolved into shakes again, unable to finish the phrase. Sam turned to Kat, nodding to the poor man. She wasn't sure what he was hoping she could accomplish in his place, but she cleared her throat.

"And we believe you, Mr. Bristol. That's why we'd like to ask you a few questions. Maybe we could help you understand a few things too."

Bristol shuddered to a stop, looking up at her with terrified eyes. It was an expression she recognized immediately. You didn't go through years of therapy without knowing that look. It wasn't her that he was afraid of. It was himself. If he dove in and started asking questions about himself, there was no telling what kind of answers he'd get.

Kat tried to give him a bracing smile.

"My name's Katherine. And this is my partner, Sam. Do you think you'd be able to talk to us about yesterday? Just for a few minutes?"

"Um…yeah. Sure, g-go ahead."

He ran a hand down his face, attempting to sit up straighter in his chair. Kat nodded to Sam, who took the lead again.

"Thank you," he said with a small smile. "So, how much do you remember about yesterday? Is there any time you might have blacked out, or not felt in control?"

"No," Bristol answered gravely. "I…I remember everything."

"Okay. So let's retrace your steps. What did you do during the day?"

"Work, mostly. I do accounting, for real estate. It was a pretty normal day. I got lunch at the deli, I—I stayed at my desk."

"And where did you go after work?"

Bristol stopped again, turning nervously from Sam back to Kat. "I—I went over this with the cops, in my confession. Do I really have to…?"

"We'd just like to hear it in your words," Kat assured him. "We're not cops, Mr. Bristol. It's okay."

He nodded shakily. He closed his eyes before he spoke.

"After…After work, I went to a bar."

"Good," said Sam, glancing at Kat. "Had you been drinking?"

"I had one or two. Nothing crazy. I wasn't drunk."

"Alright. How long did you stay?"

"I don't know. Maybe…half an hour? And then I…I went home."

"Were you alone?"

"Y-Yes."

It would have been obvious that he was lying, even if they hadn't known the answer. Bristol's eyes were glued to the table. He was wringing his hands and shifting in his chair. Kat felt for him, more than she had for Benson or the others. But it wasn't enough to stop Sam from pulling the expense report from his bag.

"This bar you went to. Was that the Honey Wagon?"

"What?" The other man's head snapped up. "No. I mean…I don't know. It might've been."

"Looks like it's the only bar you really go to," said Sam, looking over the papers. "I don't mean to pry, but M&C Entertainment kind of sticks out a bit when most of your spending goes to medical expenses and groceries. And you've been going a lot more often lately."

"Y-Yeah, my mom, she…she was getting worse. I've been kind of stressed."

"Hey, I get it. Sometimes you have to get away from it all."

Bristol nodded, but didn't offer anything else. Sam also decided to keep to himself, ever-so-helpfully. Kat had to lean forward, catching Bristol's eye.

"Is there anyone you talk to while you're there? Maybe one of the dancers, a waitress…?"

"Not really," he answered shiftily. "I mean, they're all pretty nice there. I just…I'm not good with names."

Kat nodded uncertainly. She knew she had to push, but something about Bristol's fragile face made her hesitant. It was Sam that prompted him on, his voice sterner than before.

"Mr. Bristol, we've worked a lot of cases over the years. Cases just like yours. And nine times out of ten, with a crime of this magnitude, do you know what the motive is?"

"Sam…" Kat warned, but Bristol was already shaking his head.

"It's passion. Guy goes to the club, finds a girl that he likes. A girl that makes him forget about all his problems. And then he starts to think—what if it could be just the two of us? What if everything else could go away? Does that sound familiar to you?"

"N-No…"

"Really? Cause I wouldn't blame you. You've got a lot on your shoulders, here. Bills, family, work. I get wanting to escape. But the problem is, these girls—it's their job to give you what you want. They get paid to make you feel like that. It's a fantasy."

"Stop. Just stop."

"Sure, she's pretty. Gorgeous. And she tells you that you're everything to her—but it's not true, is it? Cause where is she now?"

"Just stop! It wasn't like that! She was never like that!"

"Who, Lenny?" Kat asked urgently. "Who wasn't like that?"

"Belle! She isn't—She isn't just some stripper! She's a person! She's—…!"

Bristol froze, his lips trembling. He seemed to realize that he had said too much. Or maybe the reality of Sam's words was catching up to him. He let out a rattling sigh, and sank back into his chair. His chest shook violently, wracked with silent sobs.

Kat shot Sam a look, but he only nodded to her. It was her turn to ask the questions.

"Okay," she sighed, hesitantly reaching forward to pat Lenny's hand. "It's okay."

"I'm not like that!" he said pleadingly, looking up at her with wide eyes. "I don't—I don't _go_ to clubs like that! I don't go out!"

"It's okay, Lenny. I believe you. How did you meet Belle, then?"

"I…I was outside." His voice was still shaking, but Kat nodded encouragingly. He nodded to himself as he continued. "I was outside the bar. I don't…I don't normally go out. Not just because I don't like places like that, but because…well, they're kind of expensive. So whenever I needed a break, I'd just…go for a walk. People watch. There's a bench across the street, and I would just watch people come and go—the—the girls, the customers. And then one day, there…there she was…"

"She came up to you?"

"Yeah. She asked if she could sit next to me, and…I felt really bad, cause I couldn't stop looking at her, you know? But she told me it didn't bother her, and we just got to talking."

"About what?"

"About her job, at first. She was just dancing to pay the bills. Her dad had just passed away, and she was having troubling supporting herself. I told her about my mom and we just—we clicked. So I started going by more often. I—I tipped her extra when I could, so she could pay for rent, and…she would always listen to me about Mom."

"She sounds sweet," Kat managed to offer.

Lenny nodded. "She was— _is._ She's perfect. Everything I ever wanted."

It was a good thing he had a far off look in his eye. It gave Kat time to glance at Sam again. There was that phrase— _everything I ever wanted._

"Lenny," she started gently. "Was Belle with you last night?"

"N-No," he stammered. "I—I already told you, I—I was…"

"It's okay, Lenny," Kat insisted. "She's not in trouble. We just want to know if she was there."

Several seconds passed before he managed to nod.

"Yeah, she was there. But—But only for a little while. And she has nothing to do with this!"

"Alright. What were the two of you doing?"

"We were…well…um, we had s-sex and then…then we just talked. About how I took care of her and…what we could do in the future, if…if…"

His shoulders began to shake again. He hid his face in his hands, and this time Kat could see the real tears seeping between his fingers. It made her heart clench.

"I think that's all we need to hear," said Sam, collecting his things. "Mr. Bristol, we'll be in touch."

"No!" Lenny jumped, the cuffs rattling around his wrists. "Belle, she—she didn't have anything to do with this! I did this! Don't—please don't look for her! I'm glad she ran! I don't want her mixed up in this! She's—She's a good person! I'm the one that did this!"

It took everything Kat had to stand from her chair.

"I understand. Thank you for your time, Mr. Bristol."

He was still crying when they left.

Sam led the way back to the Prius, nodding his thanks at the desk clerk as they left the precinct. Kat was grateful that he didn't try and talk to her. It gave her a few minutes to collect herself. None of the other interviews had shaken her like this. Maybe it was the men, the simple fact that they'd cheated that made it easy to write them off. But Lenny…the only person in his world had been his mother. Kat knew what that was like. For this woman, this creature to take that from him, to make him the one that killed her…she didn't even want to imagine.

"You alright?" asked Sam, once they were safely inside the car.

"Yeah." It was a lie, but a confident one. "It's just…a lot."

"Being good cop takes a toll sometimes."

"I thought we were both supposed to be good cop. What the hell was up with you in there? What happened to compassionate, understanding Sam Winchester?"

"Didn't feel like it was working," he said with a shrug. "A guy like that—only child, taking care of his mom, limited social life—he probably spent his whole life around women. He was a lot more comfortable with you, and he wasn't gonna believe any sympathy from a guy like me."

"Right," Kat snorted. "Cause as the tall, handsome lawyer, you're automatically an asshole."

"Some people see it that way, yeah."

She had another retort about his vanity, but for some reason she couldn't bring herself to find the words. Her laughter died in her throat, and her eyes drifted to her rearview mirror. The precinct stood in the reflection, imposing and grey.

"We can't help him, can we?"

"No," Sam sighed, not sounding surprised. "We're not real lawyers. And even if we were, we wouldn't be able to make a case. It's like Benson said. The stripper didn't do it."

"But she _did._ She did do it. And because of that, Lenny's gonna die just like his mom. Two victims for the price of one."

Kat had to tear her gaze away from the building. She knew she was being naïve. People paid the price like this every day. But she didn't have to think about it every day.

"I know it's frustrating," said Sam. "But we're gonna get her. Maybe we can't help Lenny, but we can make sure the siren doesn't get anyone else."

"Good. Cause I want this thing fried." She jammed the key into the ignition, perhaps a little more violently than she should have, and the Prius rumbled to life. "First thing's first, let's catch Dean up to speed and call Bobby again. Hopefully he's got something by now."

"Yeah, about that…maybe you should take me back to the motel."

"Well, yeah, Sam. I thought that was a given."

"No, I mean…maybe you should drop me off. And keep driving."

Kat stopped herself from kicking the car in gear. Instead she turned to gape at him in surprise. He looked conflicted, worried even, and would not meet her eye.

"And why the fuck would I do that?"

"It's like I said before. Lenny's different than the other guys the siren's targeted. He wasn't married, and he didn't have a girlfriend. But it didn't stop her from picking him. The siren just told him to kill his mother instead."

"Your point?"

Sam's face screwed up in frustration, a contrast to his disbelieving smile.

"Kat, you've worked cases with us before. You know how it gets if Dean and I don't have a plan, especially when we don't know what we're up against. Sometimes, we have to get up close and personal."

"Yeah, I'd hope so. What part of 'I want this thing fried' did you not get?"

"I mean that we're in the line of fire," he said resolutely. "Look, it wouldn't be the first time Dean or I got twisted on the job. And if someone brainwashed me and told me to go kill the woman I was closest to…that's not a risk I'd want you to take."

Kat blinked at him.

"The…? Me? Oh, come on, Sam."

"Come on, what? I don't know if you've noticed, but Dean and I don't have any family. And we don't have a lot of friends."

"Trust me, I've noticed," she laughed. "But you've still got—there's women in your life, okay? You've got Ellen, Jo, Ruby even."

"Kat…"

"Well, I don't know if demons count as women, but I imagine you're a lot closer with her than you are with me. And seeing as you're fucking her, she probably qualifies."

"Kat." Sam's voice was solid as he stared at her. "I'm being serious."

"I know you are," Kat said, almost indulgently. "And I'm flattered, truly. But you're not gonna shake me that easy. Even if I was the most important woman in your life, avoiding the siren seems pretty straightforward. I just need you and Dean to keep it in your pants until the case is over. No sex, no brainwashing. Easy peasy."

"Yeah," Sam scoffed. "Easy for you to say."

"Oh my God, shut up. I know Dean's a manwhore, but you don't need to sound so douche-y about it. Your life must be _so hard_ with women throwing themselves at you left and right."

"That is _not_ what I meant."

"Yeah, well that's how you sounded. The tragic life of the Winchester brothers—too many women and not enough condoms."

Sam spluttered and burst into laughter, Kat snickering as she finally put the Prius into drive and put the police station behind them.


	47. Chapter 47

"Well, Lenny Bristol was definitely another siren vic."

Sam led the way back into his motel room, Kat slipping through the door behind him. She couldn't help but look around curiously. The boys' room was neater than she would have expected. It was neater than hers, at least. She always tried to keep her things confined to her suitcase, but no matter what, her shit always ended up all over the room. The Winchesters apparently didn't have that problem. Either they had less shit to scatter, or they were just used to moving around.

Dean was awake now, though he looked about as grumpy as he had that morning. He was stationed at a table by the window, a few lore books scattered in front of him. He practically glowered as they moved to join him.

"You got in to see him?"

"Yep," said Sam. "Said he brought a stripper home named Belle. Couple hours later, he offed his mother. Belle, of course, went MIA."

"Wait, he killed his _mom_?"

"Woman he was closest to," Sam replied with a shrug. This was accompanied by another lingering side-glance at Kat, which she pointedly ignored.

Thankfully, before Sam could restart that particular argument, his phone went off with a sharp trill. He patted down his pockets in confusion, only for Dean to hold up the device from the table.

"Yeah, you uh…forgot your cellphone."

He tossed the phone to Sam, smiling coldly as he got up from his chair. Kat shot him a questioning look, which went totally unacknowledged. He just stormed past her, focused on the coffee pot. Apparently she wasn't the only one trying to avoid an argument.

"Hey Bobby," said Sam. He took Dean's seat at the table, glancing over the books. "…Uh, no. And it doesn't seem like she's slowing down any. What about you? Got anything? …Oh, hold on a sec, I'll put you on speaker."

He nodded to Kat and Dean, who wandered back to the table to listen in. Bobby's tinny voice rang from the phone.

 _"It says you need a bronze dagger covered in the blood of a sailor under the spell of the song."_

"The hell does that mean?" asked Dean.

 _"You got me. We're dealing with three thousand years of the telephone game here."_

"Oh, come on," Kat scoffed, looking between them. "It doesn't seem that complicated."

"What'd you mean?" asked Sam, his nose scrunched in confusion.

"Well, you said the song was like a metaphor, right? For whatever kind of enchantment she's putting on them. So we snag some blood from one of the guys she targeted, and somehow that does her in."

 _"That's my best guess,"_ Bobby agreed. _"It's probably some kind of toxin or venom, something she gets in the vic's blood…"_

"That makes 'em go all Manchurian Candidate," said Sam. "Uh, what do you think? She infects the men during sex?"

 _"Maybe."_

"Supernatural STD," said Dean appreciatively.

"Don't even joke," Kat groaned.

 _"Well, however it happens, once it's done, the siren's gotta watch her back. If she gets a dose of her own medicine…"_

"It kills her," Sam finished.

 _"Like a snake getting iced by its own venom."_

"So we just gotta find a way to juice one of the OJ's in prison?" asked Dean.

 _"It's not that easy,"_ said Bobby. _"None of those guys are under the spell anymore."_

"You sure about that?" asked Sam. "I mean, we just got back from the precinct, and Lenny Bristol still seems pretty far gone. Didn't want us to look for Belle in case she got mixed up in all the trouble."

"Yeah, no," Kat sighed, leaning forward on the table. "I'm pretty sure those were just plain old feelings, Sam."

"Feelings?" Dean echoed. "For the chick that told him to gank his mom?"

"He doesn't know it was her fault," Kat offered. "Far as he's concerned, he was so far gone on her that he had a lapse of judgment. And not to sound like a bitch, but a guy like Lenny—I'm pretty sure he wasn't that hard to seduce. If a hot girl's coming onto him, he's not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth."

 _"Probably why she targeted him in the first place,"_ said Bobby. _"Either way, he's not gonna be much help to ya now. Haven't got a clue where you're gonna get the blood you need."_

"I think I might have an idea," said Sam.

 _"Be careful. These things are tricky bitches. Wrap you up in knots before you know what hit ya. Kat, you keep an eye on those idjits."_

"Yeah, I'm trying," she assured him. "They don't make it easy."

"Woah, hold on," Dean interrupted, affronted. "Can we not talk as though Sam and I are the only flight risks here?"

"You are," Kat said flatly.

"Am not!"

"Dean, I have worked exactly one case with you that didn't end with you sleeping with some random chick. If anyone was gonna end up a siren victim, I'd put my money on you."

"Hey, I've got self-control, alright? Come on, Bobby."

 _"She's not wrong, kiddo,"_ Bobby chuckled. _"Sides, your siren's got a pattern going. Don't think Kat's likely to be up next."_

"Thank you!"

"Hey, it's the twenty-first century," Dean grumbled. "Sirens could attack girls!"

"Yeah, Bobby," Sam snorted. "Don't be so heteronormative."

"Yeah. Whatever Sammy said."

 _"Shut up, ya idjits. Just get the blood and watch each other's backs. Try not to do anything stupid."_

"Fat chance," Kat shot, but Bobby had already ended the call.

Dean glowered at her, but turned back to his brother. "So what's this idea you got, huh? Where are we gonna get this blood?"

"The hospital," Sam answered. "Dr. Roberts said she did a tox-screen on all three guys, soon as they were brought in. Which means, they were probably still siren-fresh. Those samples are all locked up somewhere. All we've gotta do is convince her to hand 'em over."

"Oh, right," said Dean. "Real simple. And how exactly are we gonna do that, hm?"

"Easy," Kat snickered. "Sam's gonna flirt with her. She certainly wasn't interested in you."

He glared at her, and Sam awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Let's just worry about one thing at a time, huh? Suit up, and we can at least head down to ask."

"Whatever, man."

"Can we just agree on one thing?" Kat folded her arms over her chest, fixing them both with a hard look that stopped them in their tracks. "Bobby was right about the siren. We don't know how she infects people, and if she can convince someone to kill their own mother, then that's not a power I want to mess around with. So until we know we're in the clear, just…no messing around? Please?"

"Hey, we're professionals," said Dean, unable to avoid sounding condescending. "We know how to do our jobs."

"I'm serious, Dean. No strippers. Not one hook up, not even a lap dance."

"I—Wha…? Oh come, on!"

"She's got a point, dude," Sam chuckled. "Tough break."

"And that goes double for you," Kat snapped, jabbing a finger at Sam.

"Wait, me?" he asked incredulously. "What did I do?"

"Oh, you think I'm blind? Yes, you, Mr. Puppy-Dog-Eyes. You can flirt with the doctor to get what you need, but you are _not_ allowed to sleep with her. I need you two to hold it together for one fucking case. Do I make myself clear?"

Sam and Dean stood there dejected, both of them looking like dogs caught chewing through the carpet. It was kind of pathetic, but more than a little amusing. Kat nodded in satisfaction and headed back for the door.

"Good. I'll meet you guys at the hospital."

The medical center was quieter than it had been at their last visit. It was probably the only time Kat had ever pulled up to a hospital and immediately found parking. She decided to pull into the parking lot rather than park on the street and wait for the guys to catch up. She scanned the area carefully before hopping out to pop her trunk.

Kat winced at the mess inside. Sure, the Winchester arsenal wasn't pristine, but it had to be better than this. She'd stuffed so much into the trunk when she'd raided Marcus's stash, even more when her mom had brought supplies to Bobby's, and never bothered to organize it all. Bullets rolled across the bottom of the compartment, ropes tangled and knotted with bungee cords, guns haphazardly stuffed wherever she could get them to fit. It took her several minutes just to find the bronze knife she'd taken from the safe house. She tucked it into a makeshift holster and strapped it to her ankle for safe keeping. Then she turned back to the pile with a disparaging look. She really had to do something about that.

Before she could even think where to start, the Impala roared up to the curb. Kat slammed her trunk closed and quickly began straightening her ponytail. The last thing she needed was Dean on her ass for the mess.

"Seriously?" he shot as he climbed out of the car. "Are you going through your arsenal in the middle of the damn parking lot?"

"Why not? No one's here."

"It's the principle of the thing. Anyone could walk by and see that shit."

"Dean, I'm a blonde girl driving a Prius. I promise you, no one is going to ask me any questions."

He scoffed angrily, but Sam laughed. "She's not wrong, dude."

Kat smiled smugly at him and led the way into the building. She headed straight for the receptionist desk, but before she could get there, a voice rang out across the lobby.

"Agent Stiles." Dr. Roberts appeared from around the corner. Her eyes found Sam in an instant, and a sultry smile overtook her face. "Just can't stay away, huh?"

Sam grinned back at her. Dean, on the other hand, looked like he was one step closer to completely losing it.

"Actually, we're here on business," said Sam, nervously straightening his tie, "about the blood samples. The ones with the high…you know, uh, oxytocin?"

Just this was enough to make Dr. Roberts giggle. Dean caught Kat's eye long enough mime gagging before he intervened.

"Do you still have them?"

"Mhm," she replied, her eyes still glued to Sam.

"Good," Dean said sourly. "We need them."

"What for?"

Kat stepped up, prepared with an excuse about specialists in Quantico, only to be interrupted again.

"Excuse me, Dr. Roberts?"

A man in a blue suit stepped up to her shoulder, finally drawing her gaze away from her target. Sam and Dean moved in unison. Their badges were out before Kat had even processed that there was a new member of their conversation.

"Uh, we're a little busy here, buddy," said Dean, shooting him an apologetic smile.

"Yeah," the man replied. He reached into his jacket, pulling out his own FBI badge. "So am I, pal."

Kat felt her stomach bottom out. They were in deep shit now.

"Doc, could you give us a sec, please?" asked Sam in an overly polite voice. "Thanks."

Dr. Roberts nodded, backing away from the brewing testosterone fight. Sam was already clearing his throat, Dean drawing himself to his full height. Even the stranger was pushing his chest out slightly, looking down his nose at the other two.

Kat scoffed internally. Men.

"May I?" she asked, gesturing to the newcomer's badge.

He blinked down at her in surprise, but passed it over nonetheless. Kat scanned it carefully. Not that she knew what she was looking for. The ID had all the same markings that hers had, the same symbols and scrambled numbers. Which meant it was either real, or just as fake as her own.

"What's your name?" asked Dean.

"Nick Monroe," Kat answered over him. She passed the badge to Sam for inspection. "Pretty sloppy signature."

"Excuse me?" he asked indignantly. "And just who are you?"

"Special Agent Katherine Paige. These are my partners, Agents Stiles and Murdock."

"Three of you on one case? You don't find that a little crowded?"

"Three's a party," said Dean, glaring. "Four's a crowd."

"What office are you from?" asked Sam, passing back the badge.

"Omaha—violent crimes unit. My S.A.C. sent me down here to see about the murders. You?"

"DC," Dean answered. "Our assistant director assigned us."

"Which A.D.?"

"Mike Kaiser," said Sam.

Munroe looked between the three of them with narrowed eyes. He raised his eyebrows at Kat, reaching out a hand. "May I?"

Kat pursed her lips and passed over her badge. He flipped it open, scanning it as carefully as she had. Then he turned back to her, holding the wallet out of her reach.

"What's your badge number?"

 _"Excuse me?"_ Kat snatched the badge out of his hand in equal parts panic and righteous fury. "Gatekeepers. Can't get away from you assholes anywhere."

"Hey, I'm just following protocol," he defended.

"Yeah, with the only woman of the group. Really professional."

"Look, whatever," Sam interrupted, reaching into his jacket again. He pulled out a business card and passed it over. "Just call our A.D. and he'll sort things out, huh?"

Munroe took the card, whipping out his phone and stepping away to call. Kat edged closer to the Winchesters, dropping her voice.

"What did you give him?"

"My card," said Sam with a shrug.

Kat blinked at him. "You have business cards?"

"Yeah, don't you?"

"No! I have a badge! Excuse me, but I've never run into an actual fed before!"

"Hey, it's cool," Dean said calmly. "Dude calls the office number and gets Bobby. That's usually enough to shut down any problems."

"Great," Kat grumbled. "And when do I get my stay-out-of-jail-free cards?"

"We'll get you some right after this case," Sam chuckled, shaking his head.

"Yeah," Dean added with a wink. "Your first hundred free with Vistaprint."

Kat snorted as Agent Munroe rejoined them.

"Well, I'm sorry about that. Looks like I owe you an apology."

"Just don't let it happen again," said Dean haughtily.

"Actually, I meant uh—Agent Paige, you said?" He offered his hand, which Kat shook somewhat bewildered. "It's nice to meet you. It didn't occur to me that they'd send a special team all the way from D.C. I didn't mean to offend you."

"That doesn't mean—oof!" Her complaint was cut off by Sam elbowing her in the back. She plastered a smile over her annoyance. "No harm done. I guess."

Munroe grinned at her, either oblivious to her resistance or willfully overlooking it.

"So um…where are you at with this?"

"Where are you at with this?" Dean challenged.

"Oh, uh…" Munroe glanced at Dean, clearing his throat and stepping back. "Well I was just about to run the perps' bloodwork."

"I already checked," said Sam. "It's a dead end."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"What else ya got?" asked Kat.

He turned back to her with a smirk.

"Alright. How about this? I think I found something that connects all the murders."

"Really?" asked Sam, feigning shock.

"They were all banging strippers—from the same club."

"You don't say," said Dean.

"Yeah. Now I know these guys confessed. And three guys cheating on their wives, you know, maybe they're getting what they deserve. But all of them going to the same club? That's one hell of a coincidence, right? Maybe enough to look into?"

"Definitely," Kat agreed, nodding swiftly. "We'll keep that in mind moving forward. Thanks for your insight, Agent Munroe."

"Oh um…yeah. You're welcome." Munroe hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. "Hey, I uh…I get it if you want me to butt out. D.C. has jurisdiction, and I don't want to step on your toes. But this is some case you've got here. These guys, the things they did to their wives…it makes me sick. I'd really like to see this through."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," said Dean. "It's our jurisdiction, like you said. And honestly, in the time it would take to catch you up to speed, we could…"

"Well hold on, Murdock," Sam cut in. "Shouldn't that be up to _Supervisory Special Agent_ Paige?"

Kat was relieved to see Dean looking just as surprised as she felt. Beside her, she could already feel Munroe looking her over.

"Oh, uh…sorry, ma'am. I probably should've guessed that you were in charge."

"Trust me," Kat hissed, glaring at Sam. "Some days it doesn't feel like it."

"Just give us one second," he said apologetically, and pulled Dean and Kat to the other side of the hall.

"What the hell is wrong with you, man?" Dean demanded. "Real feds and fake feds do not go together! Bad combo!"

"This is bad," Kat sighed, pinching her nose.

"And what's the alternative?" Sam whispered. "He goes back to Omaha and tells his boss that he bumped into a couple D.C. agents that definitely don't exist?"

"That…also sounds bad."

"Look, I think the best thing to do is just work with the guy, okay? Keep him out of the way while we finish the case, and then we're gone before he knows what hit him."

"And how are we supposed to do that?"

"You," he answered simply.

"Me?" Kat echoed. "Why me?"

It was infuriating to watch him grin at her.

"Kat, he's clearly into you. So go stake out the bar, keep him talking, and I'll get the blood samples from Dr. Roberts."

" _That's_ what this is about?" she snarled. "You're playing wing-man so you can get some alone time with doctor?"

"For the case!"

"Right. And you're definitely not pimping me out cause I called you a flight risk."

"I am not pimping you out," he laughed. "Just take him to the club and I'll work as fast as I can. Take Dean with you, and he can step in if things get weird."

"Oh hell no," said Dean. "I'm not playing third wheel."

"Well I'm not going alone," Kat said adamantly. "I am not that dumb."

"Please, you could take him," Dean scoffed, looking over his shoulder at Munroe. "Guy looks like a total pushover."

"He _looks_ like a federal agent! A real one! You know—not like us? I don't love to admit it, but I have no idea what I'm talking about. What if I say something and blow cover, huh? I cannot do this by myself."

Dean frowned at her. She tried to hide her pleading look from the agent on the other side of the hall. She didn't like it any more than Dean did, but even she had to admit Sam had a point. He would have better luck with Dr. Roberts if they stepped aside.

"Come on, Dean," Sam pleaded. "Just—just focus on the naked girls. You'll forget they're even there!"

"Fine! But I'm only doing this for the strippers. Kat, just don't…don't really flirt with him, okay?"

"Dean," Sam sighed. "That's the whole point."

"I know! But I don't like watching her be nice to people. It's very unsettling."

Kat smacked him in the chest, ignoring his yelp to glare at Sam. "I will do this. But I'm serious, Sam. You _do not_ under _any circumstances_ sleep with that woman."

"I got it," he insisted. "Now take Munroe and get out of here."

She glowered at him, but had her face under control by the time she turned back around. Munroe was still watching her, eyes full of amusement as he glanced at the still-wincing Dean. It was a good thing he thought she was funny. Given the circumstances, she doubted she'd be feeling less volatile any time soon.

"So what's the verdict, Supervisory Special Agent Paige?" he asked as they approached him. "Am I allowed to stay on the case?"

"I suppose we could use a fresh pair of eyes," she said with her best smile. "Stiles is gonna hang back, make a few calls to Quantico. The rest of us will head over to this club you were talking about, and we can canvas the place."

Kat did not wait for anyone to agree with her. She turned on her heel and marched for the door, only pausing long enough to clap Sam on the chest. It was satisfying to hear him grunt. She hoped it fucking hurt.

"So how long have you been in town?" asked Agent Munroe, jogging to catch up with her quick strides.

"Only a few days. But I've been following the case since the first murder."

"I know what you mean. I remember reading about it, and I just couldn't get it out of my head. I've worked a lot of cases, but…sometimes it doesn't feel like enough, you know?"

"Um…actually, yeah." Kat glanced over at him, and her steps faltered slightly. "I know exactly what you mean."

Another smile. It was very annoying of him, especially because Kat could feel it getting easier to smile back. She was glad when Dean stormed past them to interrupt.

"Yeah, I get it too if it matters. Now can we cut the chit chat and get to the case?"

"Absolutely," Munroe agreed. "So how did you want to do this? I could ride with you guys, go over a few case details in the car?"

"Sounds great," said Kat. "You can ride with Murdock."

"Oh uh…sure. Yeah, if that's easier."

"I've just got a couple calls to make to the office, and…well, I don't like riding with distractions."

She tried to smirk, and gave him a very obvious once over. It all felt very unnatural to her, even over the top. But Munroe didn't seem to know the difference. He chuckled and scratched at the back of his neck again. Behind him, Dean gagged.

"Whatever. We're taking my ride, no complaining about the tunes."

Kat slipped away and hid in her car. She even leaned over into her passenger seat, digging around her imaginary bag for some imaginary papers until she heard the roar of the Impala's engine fade down the road. Then she peeked over the dashboard and planted her face into the steering wheel. This was going to an exhausting waste of her time.

Much as she would have loved to let Dean drive off with her problems, she knew there'd be hell to pay later if she ditched them. So she summoned what little energy she had and pulled out of the parking lot after him.

As she drove, she fiddled with her stereo. She needed music, _loud_ music, and fast. Preferably something she could sing to until her voice was hoarse and her manic fury had been expelled from her body. So she settled on some Evanescence. She was sifting through the track list trying to find something to fit her mood when the radio abruptly turned off. She frowned, hitting the power button again. Nothing happened. After a smack she got some static—which didn't make any sense because it was a damn CD.

"Hello, Katherine."

Kat screamed. It was lucky they were in a small town and an empty street, otherwise she might've taken out several people when she swerved. She swore loudly, grasping at the steering wheel and fighting to get the car under control. She managed to safely pull over to the shoulder. The one car behind her crawled passed, the passenger gaping through her window to see what kind of maniac was driving a Prius like that.

"That was violent," Castiel commented. He was holding the handle over the passenger door, looking mildly shaken. "I apologize for startling you."

Once again, Kat let her forehead collide with the wheel.

"Cas, just how long have you been watching over this planet?"

"For all of creation," he said blankly. "I suppose…four and a half billion years or so?"

"And…fuck…" Kat paused her rant, staring at him in awe. "You are…really old."

Castiel did not look particularly amused by that. He squinted at her, and Kat squeezed her eyes shut again.

"I mean to say…you were around for the birth of humanity, original sin, evolution, all that good stuff?"

"Yes."

"So you watched human invent cars. You've seen humans driving cars."

"Yes. I'm not sure I understand your point."

"And did it ever occur to you that popping up into a moving vehicle might cause something like, I don't know—a car accident? Probably the leading cause of death in the country?"

"Actually the leading cause of death is heart disease."

Kat smacked him. This seemed to shock him more than anything else. He openly gaped at her, looking almost offended. If Kat's heart wasn't still trying to escape out of her ribcage she might have laughed. Instead she clenched her jaw.

"Do not invite yourself into my car if I'm driving. No, you know what? Anyone's car if anyone's driving! That's just common sense, Cas."

"And I apologized," he complained, "but I needed to speak with you. Away from the Winchesters."

That got her attention.

"Why can't you talk to me around Sam and Dean? What's wrong?"

Castiel turned to look out the window. Kat found this annoyingly dramatic, all things considered.

"There's a group of demons not far from here. And no, I don't believe that they are tracking you. But I intended to keep an eye on the situation regardless. However, it's become abundantly clear that I am not the only one keeping tabs on these demons. They are being followed by someone else."

"Okay," Kat said slowly. "Why is that important?"

"Upon closer inspection I was able to identify your demon associate—Ruby."

Kat's heart sank. It wasn't a surprise exactly, not after her conversation with Dean the previous morning, but she could stand to live in denial a little while longer.

"Is that really an issue?" she asked. "Just cause she's tailing demons doesn't mean it has anything to do with the seals. And will you stop calling her my associate? I would much prefer I never see her again. Fuck if I know what she's doing."

"Katherine," he began with a hard glare. "If Ruby is in your vicinity it suggests that she is still in contact with Sam. The angels are not accustomed to giving the benefit of the doubt. Sam has already been warned to cease all activity involving his abilities. He will not receive a second warning."

"Then why are you here?"

Castiel hesitated and turned away from her again.

"I am here as…a courtesy. You've shown far more progress in getting through to Sam than Dean has over the past few months. You are not blinded by the same fraternal bond. If you value his life, you will talk to him about his alliance with this demon."

"If I _value his life_?" Kat choked out a desperate laugh. "Cas, I don't know where you were before the farmhouse, but I have talked to Sam about his _alliance._ I have lectured him, I have screamed at him, and I have beaten him. And he refuses to listen. And not to put myself on your shit list, but I know where he's coming from."

"This is not a debate, Katherine," he warned. "Defected or not, the demon is an abomination. She is not to be trusted."

"And I'm with you on that. But Sam's main concern is helping people. It always has been. And whatever shit he was doing with Ruby allows him to feel like he's doing that. As far as I've seen, you and your buddy Uriel and all your back up in Heaven haven't done anything to show that you share that concern. All you do is talk about the endgame and how the ends justify the means no matter the cost."

"The ends do justify the means! The end is the leveling of all creation!"

"Then maybe this creation doesn't deserve to be saved!"

Castiel froze. He was angry now. Kat could somehow feel the energy changing in the car, like the air was charged by his rage and just moving wrong could electrocute her to the core. She did her best to hide the spark of fear in her chest.

"That's blasphemous," Castiel growled.

"I am just trying to make you understand," Kat said gently. "I get we're preventing Armageddon here, but if it comes at the cost of millions of lives in the crossfire, it's not something the Winchesters are interested in. That is why Sam is so resistant. They don't respond well to orders. And until you prove that you care about the little things too? I think it's going to stay that way."

"And you? What are you interested in, Katherine?"

"Me?" She let out a huff of weak laughter. "If you have to ask, you're more clueless than I thought."

She did not get an immediate response. Castiel continued to stare out of the window, keeping his thoughts to himself. Kat looked out her own window, watching the occasional car slug by. There were lives she was supposed to be saving right now, a case that she was working, but she couldn't bring herself to pull back onto the road. Castiel's anger felt like it was weighing her car down in one spot, like a righteous, grumpy parking brake.

"Have you read the book of Revelations?"

Kat glanced over to Castiel, sheepish. "Not really. Outside of what Bobby's been sending me, anyway."

"What about the Gospels? Matthew, Mark…"

"Luke and John, I know. I went to Sunday school."

"Clearly you didn't retain much." He turned to her, cutting off her sarcastic comment. "You should be more careful in your reading, Katherine. The souls that are lost in these battles will be mourned, but they will be rewarded graciously in the kingdom of Heaven. And I promise you, their suffering is nothing compared to that which you will endure in the end times. Should we fail to prevent Lucifer's return, chaos will reign over the land. War and famine and plagues you have not dared to imagine outside the cartoonish depictions in your childhood prayer book. I understand the little things, Katherine. I value them, and these people, and their torment. Your fault is in your inability to see the larger picture. And I fear that is why your efforts will fail."

Kat could barely bring herself to breathe as he looked away from her. She stared at him, transfixed, until he spoke again.

"Talk to Sam. If you cannot stop him, I will."

And with that he vanished in a rush of air.

"Wow," Kat sighed into the silence, after several minutes of reflection. "Alright. Well fuck me, I guess."

She slammed her hand onto the stereo button, thankful that it turned on at full volume. She needed to do a lot of screaming if she was going to resist the rising urge to drive her car into a tree.

The Honey Wagon was as busy as the rest of the town was empty. The sun was already setting, and Kat could hear the bass pumping inside before she even got out of the car. She grabbed her phone, dialing Dean's number, but there was no response. Wherever he was inside the club, it was either too loud for him to hear or he was too focused on the dancers. Or he was ignoring her in protest, of course, which was equally likely.

Kat grabbed her things, patting herself down for her knife and her badge. Then she put on her best game face and climbed out of the car.

The line for the bar was currently wrapped around the sidewalk. Kat couldn't imagine wanting to get into the Honey Wagon so badly that she'd wait outside in temperatures like this. She brushed past the line, flashing her badge at the bouncer and heading for the door. But the bouncer would not let her pass.

"I don't think so, sweetheart."

"Excuse me?" She did her best to keep her cool, jiggling the badge in his face. "You saw this, right?"

"Oh yeah, I saw it. And so did my boss, when your friends were asking questions last night. See when people like you come around places like this, it usually bad for business. So if you wanna do anymore investigating? You're gonna need a warrant."

He smirked down at her, bulging arms crossed across his chest. Kat pursed her lips and glanced up and down the street. Her options were limited. She couldn't fight her way in and expect to stay. Even if she waited on line, she doubted he'd let her in. She could go back to the car and wait, but Dean wasn't answering his phone. And he was definitely here—no way he'd leave the Impala on the curb and walk the other way.

Kat looked up at the bouncer, her eyes wide.

"Wait, you mean like…real feds?"

"Yeah," he scoffed, narrowing his eyes at her. "Your partners weren't exactly slick."

"Pa—Partners? Ha! Oh my God!" She dissolved into manic giggles, swatting him on the arm. "Baby, did you think I was an actual FBI agent? Like, a real government officer?"

"You're trying to get in with a badge," he said stonily. "Now you're saying you're not a real government officer?"

She pouted at him, pulling the clip out of her hair and letting her curls tumble onto her shoulders. When that didn't get her a reaction, she undid the first few buttons of her shirt. She snapped her bra strap pointedly—bright blue with just a peek of the lace.

"I'm a dancer, dumbass. Started last week."

"Really?" he asked in amusement. "And out of all the costumes out there, you went with a pantsuit? A prop badge?"

"Just wait until you see where I keep the toy gun." She winked, which did not work nearly as well as it had with Munroe. "Come on, doll. If you don't let me in now, I'm gonna miss my set."

The man considered her. Kat resisted the urge to wrench her shirt shut as his eyes roved over her breasts. Instead, she pushed her chest out and prayed.

"What's your name?" he asked finally.

"…Tink."

"Tink?" he laughed. "As in like, Tinkerbell?"

"Yes, like Tinkerbell," Kat spat, dropping her attempts at flirtation. "Cause I'm a petty little blonde with a mean right hook. So unless you want to meet it, I suggest you step aside and let me do my job."

Why she ever bothered trying anything else was a mystery to her. Her glower worked better than flirting every time.

The bouncer didn't look particularly scared of her, but he did step aside to let her pass. And she almost made it all the way inside before he called her back.

"Hey, Tink! Why don't you tie that shirt up, huh? Not gonna make a lot of tips with the girls tucked away like that."

Kat chewed on the inside of her cheeks as she stopped to follow his direction. She knotted the ends of her shirt under her bra, fluffed her hair, and gave him the most venomous smile she could manage before she stomped into the bar.

As soon as she was out of sight, she yanked her shirt back into place and pulled her hair up again. Fuck that. She was not about to be eye candy for a bunch of drunks sneaking away from their wives. She was here to do her damn job.

She set off to find Dean, taking the same path around the club that they had the night before. After that, it wasn't hard to spot him. He and Munroe had settled in at one of the balcony tables, a collection of empty shot glasses between them. They'd both loosened their ties, top buttons undone, hair wild for some reason she couldn't fathom. At least they were laughing—a better mood than she'd been expecting.

"I leave you alone for five minutes," she groaned, sidling up to their table.

"Ay, there she is!" Dean cheered, clapping an arm on her should. "The old capitán!"

"Shit, uh—Agent Paige!" Munroe nearly strangled himself trying to tighten his tie, and coughed up half his shot. "I am so sorry, ma'am. We were trying to blend in and…"

"Hey, you don't need to call her that," Dean chuckled, waving a hand. "It's lame, and it'll give her a big head. Anyway, Kat. Watch this—hey Nick, uh…'Nobody's Fault But Mine!'"

"Oh, I don't uh…"

"Come on! I'm low-balling you, bro!"

"Okay, okay. Zeppelin recorded it in '75. It was a cover of a Blind Willie Nelson tune."

Dean cheered and high-fived him. Munroe leaned back in his chair, looking pleased but still slightly embarrassed.

"My little sister's very into classic rock," he explained to Kat. "Learned everything I know just to keep up with her."

"Fascinating." She turned back to Dean in annoyance. "Hey, how did you two even get it? The bouncer told me they weren't letting in any feds."

"Well, sure. I figured we ruffled one too many feathers when we popped by yesterday. Nick and I waited in line with everyone else. Why? How did you get in?"

Kat refused to give him the satisfaction of an answer. But Dean's eyes were quick. Half a once-over and he was already tugging at her hastily buttoned shirt.

"Why are you all wrinkly now? Something happen? You good?"

"I'm fine," she bit, stepping out of his reach. "And if you're not too buzzed to focus, I'd like to get back to the case."

"Hey, we are all over this case. We have this completely under control."

Dean smacked a hand down on the table, causing the shot glasses to rattle and roll. One made a break for the end of the table, which Kat and Munroe grabbed for at the same time. Kat got there first. A millisecond later, Munroe's hand closed around hers, sending off warning alarms in her brain.

He smiled nervously, retracting his hand. "Maybe we should, uh…get a waitress over here. Clear the table."

"Get some more drinks, more like it," Dean offered. He flagged down a passing woman in a neon green corset, who was carrying a tray of shots. "Hey there, sweetheart. Can I get three of those?"

"Two," Kat corrected.

"Three. Thank you so much." Dean slipped a roll of bills into the woman's skirt, and whistled as she walked away. "Damn. See, Kat? Tequila, your favorite!"

"This is…so against protocol," Munroe laughed nervously.

"Ah, don't worry about it," Dean assure him. He placed one shot in front of each of them. "Who's gonna report you, my dude? Not me, that's for sure."

"Maybe not you," he agreed, eyeing Kat.

"Psh, Kat? I'm sorry—Agent Paige? Nah, you don't need to worry about her. Because if there's one thing I know about my _boss_ here, it's that she never backs down from a challenge." He smiled dangerously and nudged Kat's glass closer to her. "So. Are you game?"

Kat knew it was a trap. It was not the first that she had walked into. However, seeing as the penalty was a cold shot of tequila instead of fishnets and crippling humiliation, she did not feel particularly bad about taking it. The way this case was going, she'd probably be happier if she was drunk.

"Shoot," she agreed, accepting the glass.

Dean positively beamed.

"Alright. And—because I am extremely merciful—I will go easy on you. Do you know who sings the song 'Sorrow is a Woman'?"

"That would be…Def Leppard."

"Very good," he said, clearly impressed. "And if I asked, would you be able to tell me what album that was on?"

"If you asked, then I would have to guess…Pyromania?"

Dean and Agent Munroe both groaned in agony, and Kat rolled her eyes. She tossed the shot back without a second thought. She waved them into silence.

"Okay, both of you shut up. We all knew this was a losing battle. Munroe, you—…"

"Nick," he insisted. "We're breaking protocol this bad, I think we can forgo the formalities."

"Alright, Nick," she agreed with a sly smile. "Please ask Dean a terribly difficult question. Lord knows I won't be able to think of one."

"It would be my pleasure," he said with a wink. Dean didn't bother hiding his groan now, but it only made Nick smile. "Back to Zeppelin. How about…You Shook Me."

"Oh, '69, debut album," Dean answered immediately. "Written by Willie Dixon."

"And?"

"…and what?"

"Written by Willie Dixon and J.B. Lenoir."

"Dude!" Dean laughed, taking his shot without even a shade of disappointment. "Dude! You know, for a fed, you're not a total dick."

"Aren't we all feds?" asked Nick.

"Yeah. No, I just, you know—not a lot of feds as cool as us, huh?"

"At least we know they're scraping the bottom of the barrel," Kat suggested. "Certainly something to be thankful for."

"Don't be a brat," Dean shot before turning back to Nick. "Alright, grand finale. My personal favorite—'Ramble On.'"

"Aw man, nice choice. Okay, it uh…second album, so that'd be '69. It was not Dixon, so that means it was Jimmy Page and…and…"

Kat did not miss the way Nick glanced over at her. He thought about it for a moment, and then shrugged in defeat. Dean roared.

"And Robert Plant! Ha! Take that!"

"Well, can't win 'em all." Nick raised the shot glass to his lips, but stopped short. He held the glass out to Kat. "Actually, I think you should take this. You got some catching up to do."

"Ah, I don't think so…"

"Come on. Dean and I are both more than a few in."

"Which is exactly why one of us has to be the adult."

"Or you could jump in the deep end?" he suggested. "Let that pretty blonde hair down?"

"I prefer to keep it up," she said. She could feel her smile becoming fixed. "Especially when I'm working a murder case."

Nick obviously didn't like that answer, but he didn't push her. He did sigh dramatically, and made a show out of leaning back in his chair. Kat didn't even have the chance to reconsider before Dean snatched the shot out of Nick's hands and chugged it down himself.

"Geez, Kat, lighten up."

He shuddered at the alcohol, and Kat rolled her eyes. Nick hurriedly cleared his throat and changed the subject.

"So, uh—back to the case. I gotta tell you, I wasn't sure what we were gonna find here, but I'm still not seeing anything suspicious."

"I don't think that's all that surprising," Kat said in a stage whisper. "Especially considering we've been sitting here drinking instead of interviewing potential witnesses."

"Witnesses to what, though?" he asked. "The husbands all confessed. The forensics is solid. They definitely killed those women. So even if they were all banging the same stripper, what's that got to do with the murders?"

"I guess we'll have to find her to find out."

"And then what? She didn't make them kill their wives. You can say what you want—blackmail, coercion, hypnotism maybe. It's not gonna stand up in court, and it ain't gonna change a jury's mind."

"It's not about a jury," said Kat, squinting at him. "It's about the truth. And where's this one-eighty coming from, anyway? You were the one who suggested we come down here to check it out."

"I know, I know." He bobbed his head in agreement and tapped anxiously on the table. "I guess I just keep asking myself what difference it's gonna make. I'm still not sure what's going on here."

"Then maybe it's about time we all got off our asses and started asking questions."

"Yeah, not so easy when you're supposed to be undercover." Nick paused, looking her over in a whole new light. "Hey, you—you haven't tried that yet, have you? Going undercover?"

"Oh, no, I—I really don't…"

"Well why not? It's perfect, right? The missing link is probably one of the dancers. You could go back stage and talk girl to girl. You'd have a lot more luck than me, that's for sure."

"You know, we—we talked about that, and we um…we decided that wasn't a good option. Remember, Murdock?"

Kat turned desperately to Dean for back up. But Dean was refusing to look at her. He was still staring at Nick with some strange expression—consideration, even appreciation. Kat kicked him under the table, but there was no reaction. She kicked him again, a little harder. He did not even flinch.

"Hey, you would be totally safe," Nick was assuring her. "You're clearly the most qualified, and the best suited for the job. If you really want to find out the truth, I think this is our best play. I mean—come on, Dean. You've gotta see what I mean. Back my play."

"Absolutely." He turned to look at her, without a shred of doubt. "I think that's a good idea."

Kat gaped at him. There was no way he… _Betrayed_ wouldn't be a good word for it, because when had she let herself trust the Winchesters anyway? Trust was the last thing on her mind. But there had been some part of her that believed there'd been an understanding. She'd believed him when he said he wouldn't do that to her. She'd believed that he…but she'd been wrong before.

Nick grinned, clapping Dean on the shoulder. Dean looked back to him and smiled. It wasn't all quite there, though. There was something missing from the expression—his cheeks, his eyes, whatever. She couldn't place it. It made her feel idiotic to say it, even to think it to herself, but Dean's smile was the wrong smile. He'd pissed her off often enough on the road. She knew the kind of grin he got when he was teasing her, when he was ready to say something that would upset her, or digging his heels in because he thought that he was right and she was wrong. And the expression he had now…that wasn't it. She might not have known what it was, but her gut told her that it was something.

"Alright. Fine."

She pulled her hair down again, just like she had at the front door. She unbuttoned her entire shirt, gratuitously adjusted her boobs in her bra, and then grabbed the two shirt corners in her fists.

"What do you think, Dean? Tie it up full Britney, or just get rid of the button down completely?"

He blinked at her and shrugged. "Whichever. Doesn't really matter."

"I think Britney's the way to go," said Nick. "Know what I mean, man?"

They both laughed. Nick brandished a finger at Dean as though he had been the one to make the joke. Dean turned to wink at Kat, just like he had the day before. She just squinted at him. She was too curious for her anger to register yet. She tied her shirt up and fixed her boobs again, but he'd already looked away.

"I think the dressing rooms are back that way," said Nick, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "That's where most of the girls seem to be going in and out. Probably a good place to start."

"Okay," she agreed, casually as she could manage. "Well, I better get started. Wish me luck."

She fluffed her hair again and left the table, following the balcony around to the other side of the bar. Weaving through the crowd, she fished her phone out of her pocket the moment she thought she was out of sight. It was time she called for backup.

Back at the table, Nick watched her leave with a bitter smirk.

"She is one smart cookie, isn't she? See, this is why I don't normally go for women. They're always so cautious, suspicious. They've gotta be if they wanna survive in a world like this. Keeps 'em smart. I guess guys like you don't really have to worry about that."

He turned to Dean, who said nothing. He was still staring blankly. The toxins pumping through his blood made it hard to focus on anything else. As far as he was concerned, Nick was the only person in the room. It made Nick sigh.

"You just had to take the shot from her. Had to one up her, get under her skin. I'm not gonna lie, Dean. It's a little pathetic. See your friend—Kat, was it? I really liked her. She walked up to the bar yesterday and…well, she was a little obvious, sure. But she knew what she wanted, and she was ready to take it. I respect that a lot. I don't really get that vibe from you. You were confident once, sure, but all this? This bravado? That's not fooling anyone but you."

Dean stayed silent. That was the worst part about hypnosis. Some people just became zombies, just waiting for orders, absolutely no fun to play with. But it was too late now. With three hunters getting closer to the case, Nick had to mop up the situation and split. One little hiccup couldn't hold him back.

"Well, we're just gonna have to make it work, huh? Show must go on."

He ran his thumb along the inside of his lip, coating it in saliva. Then he brought the finger up to Dean's mouth. Dean obediently licked up the toxin, even nipping at his finger.

"Kinky," Nick chuckled in appreciation. "It's a shame I've gotta kill you so quickly. I'm sure you would've been a great lay."

"I am," Dean said confidently.

"Well, we don't have time for that now, do we? Normally, I'm not this forward. I like to…wine and dine, get to know a guy before I get in his head. But with your girlfriend on my tail, I guess we'll just have to cut to the chase. So tell me, Dean. Who is the most important person in your life?"

"Sammy," he answered, without hesitation. "My little brother."

"Right, the behemoth." Nick nodded, his fingers absent mindedly tracing Dean's hand. "I can tell you love him like crazy, but…you don't trust him anymore, do you? And that's all you really want, right Dean? A brother who's like you? Someone who has the same values and likes the same music, who's just as loyal to you as you've always been to your tiny, dysfunctional little family."

"Yes."

"How about that? Maybe this FBI face can work out after all, huh?"

Nick smiled, leaning toward Dean over the table. Dean leaned in instinctually, and it made Nick's heart soar. He was already so devoted. He loved him. He would do anything he asked.

"You know, Dean. I think it's time you introduce me to your brother."


	48. Chapter 48

"Come on, Sam. Answer me. Fucking answer me you stupid—fucking—bastard!"

Kat let out a strangled screech as the call went to voicemail again, and she jammed the end call button. She peeked around the corner, checking the table she'd left on the balcony. Dean and Nick were still sitting there. It wouldn't look suspicious to any passerby. Just two guys having a normal conversation in a crowded bar, albeit a little more serious than they had been tossing back shots. Dean seemed to be doing most of the talking now, though what he could be dishing about Kat had no idea. Nick was nodding attentively, completely at ease. She wanted to hold off judgment until she was completely sure, but still…she didn't like it.

Her phone went off in her hand, barely half a ring before she answered.

"Please tell me you've got something."

 _"_ _Kat?"_ What little she could hear of Bobby's voice sounded annoyed. _"What the hell they trying to do at that club? Break the sound barrier?"_

"Bobby, that's not what that means."

 _"_ _What?"_

"Ugh, hold on!"

She checked the table one last time before ducking farther down the hallway. It wasn't much quieter, but at least there were fewer people, and she wasn't in the direct line of the speakers.

"Can you hear me now?" she asked tartly.

 _"_ _Don't get smart with me. You want answers or not?"_

"So you found something?"

 _"_ _More like a whole lot of nothing,"_ said Bobby. _"I called the Omaha office. No record of any Nick Munroe working there, now or ever."_

Kat smacked a hand against the metal door. "I _fucking_ knew it."

 _"_ _How's my question."_

"It's Dean," she explained, pacing back toward the main room. "He's acting up. I wasn't sure before, but if Nick's the siren then we definitely have a huge prob…"

Kat stopped speaking abruptly. She was leaning around the corner, looking at the same table she had been before. Only now there was no Nick and Dean. They'd been replaced by a young couple, just shrugging off their jackets. Left, right—nothing. The men were gone.

"Motherfucker!"

 _"_ _Kat? What's going on? What happened?"_

"He's gone! They're both gone! Two seconds and I—fuck!"

That Bobby heard loud and clear.

 _"_ _Hey, knock it off with the dramatics,"_ he ordered, somehow still managing to sound comforting. _"If this FBI agent is the siren, he was on your case long before you called me. Mind readers, remember? Probably knew the minute you had your back turned."_

Kat knew he was right, but it didn't stop her from grunting in frustration. She marched to the back door again, kicking it open and relishing the effort it took. It slammed loudly behind her. There was no alarm, which was lucky, but now she was stuck shivering in the back alley. The cold calmed her down more than anything else. She tugged her shirt back into place, taking a shaky breath to refocus.

"What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

 _"_ _I'll tell you what you do—you head back to your car and skip town."_

"What?" Kat shook her head even though he couldn't see her. "No, I meant about Dean. He could be anywhere. If the siren infected him…"

 _"_ _Then the last place he should be is anywhere near you_ ," Bobby finished stubbornly.

"Come on, Bobby. I'm not running."

 _"_ _Then you're dumber than I thought. If this siren's got a taste for dead chicks and he knows you're onto him? Your name's probably top of the hit list."_

"Fine, so he sics Dean on me. I can handle it."

 _"_ _The hell you can,"_ he warned. _"Kat, you been up against Dean before. But that's Dean holding back, Dean trying to defend himself. Dean fighting to kill…I don't know anyone that could handle that."_

Kat pouted, but she couldn't argue with him. She knew all the times she'd fought Dean—even after the hitchhiking incident—neither of them had been giving it their all. They were trying to subdue each other, not kill. If Nick had gotten to Dean the way she thought he had, then even Dean wasn't Dean anymore.

"Where would I even go?" she sighed. "I can't just leave them here running amok. And Sam's still fucking AWOL."

 _"_ _Just get some distance. I'll try Sam and head out your way. Should be there by morning, and we can clean up this mess. Okay?"_

"Okay." Kat chewed on her bottom lip. "Bobby, I'm…"

 _"_ _You say sorry, I'll kick your ass right after I finish the siren. I told you these bitches were tricky, and it looks like it was three steps ahead. We'll get it."_

"Yeah," she sighed bitterly. "I got it."

 _"_ _Good. Now get in your car and lock the damn doors. And don't tell me which way you're headed. I'll call you with a bulletin."_

He hung up before she could think of anything else to argue about.

Kat trudged back to the parking lot, cursing every step of the way. Seeing the empty place where the Impala has been sitting barely half an hour ago just made her stomp harder. She slammed the car door and started the engine too harshly. She blasted the heat and slammed the radio until it turned off. And then she sat there, looking out the window at the Honey Wagon, and did not move.

She was being stupid. Bobby's logic was perfectly sound, and she knew it. But she didn't want to run. She was so fucking tired of running and hiding—from demons, from angels, and everything in between. And what good would it do? There was no proof Dean was coming after her. What if that's what the siren was counting on? What if while she was running to save her own skin Dean was speeding off to hurt someone else? Some woman he actually did care about?

Kat pulled out her phone. Luckily, this time someone picked up.

 _"_ _If you're not calling to tell me you got that picture of Dean in short shorts, then I don't want to talk to you."_

Despite the stress she was under, Kat grinned.

"Sorry, fetus. It's a no go on the shorts."

 _"_ _Then I'm hanging up,"_ said Jo. _"Goodbye in three, two..."_

"You haven't heard from Dean, have you?"

 _"_ _Uh, no. Isn't Dean with you?"_

"Well yeah, he was up until five minutes ago."

 _"_ _Wow,"_ Jo laughed. _"Alright, well it's only been a few minutes, Kat. I know separation anxiety is hard, but I'm sure he'll turn up."_

"No, I mean—we're working a case with a siren and they disappeared together."

 _"_ _...sorry, are you working with a siren or hunting one?"_

"God—no, Jo! We're hunting it!"

 _"_ _Well, sorry! I've never heard that one before. Didn't expect you to be out tracking down The Little Mermaid."_

"I promise you, it's not as fun as it sounds," Kat sighed. "They brainwash men into killing the women closest to them, then leave the guys to rot in the dust. So if Dean's gone…"

 _"_ _Then you're thinking he's next,"_ Jo finished.

"Yeah. Which is not exactly ideal for any of us."

 _"_ _Hey, maybe he'll be able to fight it? You know Sam and Dean. They're kind of impervious to people telling them what to do."_

"Right," Kat snorted. "Still just…if he calls you, do me a favor and don't answer. At least until I give you the all clear."

 _"_ _Okay. You got it. Oh, uh—hold on. Mom wants to talk to you."_

Jo passed off the phone, letting the chatter of the Roadhouse seep through before Ellen's stern voice drowned it out.

 _"_ _Did I just hear you say Dean got nabbed on a siren case?"_

"Pretty much," Kat admitted, drumming the steering wheel. "Look, don't worry. Bobby already gave me the lecture about steering clear and letting him handle it."

 _"_ _Letting him…? Are you insane? The hell would you do that for?"_

"Um…cause I'd rather not die?"

 _"_ _Well I'm all for being cautious, but I doubt you're the top of Dean's list, sweetheart."_

"Thank you! Finally," Kat groaned. "That's what I told Bobby, but he told me to butt out. Honestly, I'm surprised he didn't already call you to warn you Dean might be coming your way."

 _"_ _Dean?"_ Ellen repeated blankly. _"Kat, what are you on about?"_

"The siren? It infects men and forces them to kill the women closest to them. Now, I don't know a lot about Dean, but I figure you two fit that description way better than I do. I'm gonna head your way now, and maybe…"

 _"_ _Woah, hey, slow down,"_ Ellen interrupted. _"You're not going anywhere. Where the hell did you get this info, anyway? Wikipedia?"_

"No, Bobby. We told him what we had, and he tried to connect the dots for us."

 _"_ _Well shit, Katherine! Is Bobby Singer the only person you idiots call for intel?"_

"This…feels like a trick question."

Ellen gave a labored sigh. Kat could just imagine the exasperation seeping out of her, the towel she was probably slinging over her shoulder as she prepared to dig in for a lecture. She missed it.

 _"_ _Bill and I took down a siren first year we met. I coulda told you everything you needed to know in about two seconds."_

"Well that's great, Ellen. Mind telling me now? Cause it's still pretty relevant and it looks like I'm on the clock."

There was a sour pause before Ellen cooperated.

 _"_ _Alright, well first off, sirens don't only kill women, any more than they only infect men. They just thrive off the power of controlling people, don't matter who you are. The one I took down had a penchant for making parents kill their own kids. After that, grief finished off most of them."_

"Fuck," Kat gasped, and Ellen hummed bitterly.

 _"_ _Yeah. Definitely one of the hardest cases I've worked. Sirens are nasty. Point is, they make their victims commit these atrocities to prove their devotion. Could be killing your spouse, your kids, your best friend. They make you get rid of the thing you care about most so there's only room for them in your head. So if that siren's got Dean, first thing you oughta do is…"_

"Find Sam," Kat agreed. "Except he's not answering my damn phone calls."

 _"_ _Could Dean've gotten to him already?"_

"No, no. I had an eye on him when I started calling Sam. Dean's only been gone maybe…ten minutes now."

 _"_ _I'll give him a call too,"_ said Ellen. _"Not that they're known for keeping in touch."_

"Thanks, Ellen."

 _"_ _Sure thing, kiddo. And, hey—taking this thing out—you're gonna need a bronze dagger…"_

"Coated in the blood of a victim?"

 _"_ _Huh. Well at least that bastard got something right. Just make sure you cover your face, alright? Sirens infect their targets through saliva—kissing, drinks, sex—but they've got glands that can spit a few good yards. Like a demonic llama."_

"Great," Kat snorted. "I'll look for some headgear then."

 _"_ _Good. And you call me as soon as this wraps up. Otherwise I'll head out there myself to kick your ass."_

"Understood. Thanks again, Ellen."

Kat ended the call, only feeling slightly better. Sure, now she knew who Dean was going for, but she still had no idea where that was. And with Sam refusing to pick up the phone, or incapable…

She shook off the thought. Driving with a siren riding shotgun did not give Dean super speed. Sam was fine and she still had time to find him. So she'd start with the last place she'd seen him.

Leaning over to the passenger seat, Kat rifled through all the case papers she'd let pile up. No, not the incident report. No, not the men's background files. No, not their financial breakdowns. She needed her case notebook. No, the _other_ case notebook. That one she'd filled up weeks ago. Fuck. She really needed to come up with some kind of filing system.

Finally, she located the notebook she was looking for. She flipped open to her current case, looking for the page where she'd scrawled the cursory information for the hospital. When she found it, she made her third phone call. By some miracle, she got a human instead of a recorded directory. Three cheers for small town hospitals.

 _"_ _Taylor County Medical Center. How can I help you today?"_

"Hi, this is Special Agent Paige with the FBI. I was in there earlier with my partners to speak with Dr. Roberts?"

 _"_ _Of course,"_ the receptionist said cheerily. _"And how can I help you, Agent Paige?"_

"I'm looking to get in contact with my partner Agent Stiles. Tall, about six-four, with shaggy brown hair? I can't seem to get a hold of him, but I know strictly speaking you're not supposed to use your phone in a hospital. Do you know if he's still interviewing Dr. Roberts?"

 _"_ _Oh no, ma'am. Your partner and Dr. Roberts left about fifteen minutes ago."_

"Together?" Kat asked, momentarily distracted.

 _"_ _Oh—oh no! I am so sorry, that—that is not what I meant. They left separately and…oh, but I did hear him say something about his hotel."_

"Okay, whatever. Thank you."

Kat ended the call, her nose scrunched in distaste. That mess was a problem for later. So she threw her notebook aside and floored it back to their hotel.

The Prius might not have been fast, but it was inconspicuous. Loads of people drove them, especially in California. It wasn't a particularly distinctive car, and it never left an impression. No one was ever going to stumble upon a crime scene and say, "Ah, a blonde woman in a Prius. That narrows it down."

For the life of her, she couldn't figure how Sam and Dean had made it so long in a classic car. They'd only had to change the license plates once. And still, even if she hadn't been looking for it, it was the first thing she saw when she pulled into the hotel parking lot.

Kat parked a few spaces away, just to be safe, and tried Sam's phone one last time. It rang and rang, and ended up at voicemail again. She chucked the phone aside, unsurprised. The Impala meant that she was in the right place. There was no way to tell if Sam was here too, but she wasn't going to go in unprepared.

She checked the knife at her ankle, which was still secure, and fished a set of padded gloves out of the glove compartment. It wasn't strictly hunting equipment. Usually she used them for training at the gym. But if Dean was waiting in his room ready to kill her for defending Sam, she'd take a little extra protection for her knuckles.

With the car locked and her hair pulled back, Kat started for the building. She stopped short at the curb, eyeing a sleek black motorcycle that had been parked close to the lobby door. She gave a cursory look around the parking lot, then snagged the spare helmet hanging on the handlebars. They were dumb as shit for leaving it there anyway. She was about to put it to a much better use.

The plan had been to go up to the front desk and ask if her very tall boyfriend had come through the lobby to ask for the spare room key they needed. That would at least give her an idea of whether or not she'd beaten Sam back to the building. But before Kat could make it that far, she overheard the frantic phone call the receptionist was having on the phone.

"Shouting? Okay, yes and—and breaking? Did it sound expensive? No, ma'am I'm not trying to—yes, I'll send someone up to that room to assess the situation. And—yes, room 109. I'll call the authorities, of course, ma'am."

Kat turned around and headed straight for the stairwell. She was definitely in the right spot.

Jamming the motorcycle helmet onto her head, Kat barreled up the staircase. She could head the destruction the woman must have been complaining about on the phone. Bangs, grunts, splintering wood. She slipped out onto the correct floor just as some kind of glass shattered. They must have been right around the corner.

"Do it," she heard Nick say, stopping her in her tracks. She pressed her back up against the wall to listen. "Do it for me, Dean. So we can be together."

Dean was panting from the effort of the fight. It was too shallow for Kat to gauge how far down the hallway he was. She couldn't hear Sam at all, but presumably he was still alive. For the next few seconds, anyway.

"Tell me again how weak I am, Sam," Dean growled. "Huh? How I hold you back?"

Well. That didn't sound good.

There was no time to think. By the time Kat had guessed how far away the boys were, her body was already four steps around the corner. She could only process snapshots of the action. Dean had an axe. Sam was on the ground. Just past him, Nick.

Kat body slammed Dean head on, knocking his swing off course. It was a good thing she had the helmet, because she immediately collided into the wall. The bump hurt, but she was still coherent enough dodge the next swing Dean took at her. Barely.

The axe lodged itself into the wall inches in front of her face. Before Dean could yank it out, Kat drew her own blade. It sliced easily through Dean's shirt and jacket, and he yelped in pain as the skin gave way too. She didn't even have time to see if he'd released the axe before Sam was grabbing her ankles from underneath her. She sliced his hand too for good measure, scrambling back as he recoiled.

She'd just gotten to her feet when Dean bounced back, lunging in uncalculated rage. A mistake.

 _Wham!_

Gloves forgotten, Kat kicked him in the face. He reeled back, and Kat bolted.

The fight had given Nick enough time to run for the hills himself. Kat rounded the corner, only to find Nick at the other end. She took a breath, wound up, and threw the knife.

She was already running toward him when the knife hit. She skid to a stop in shock. But there was Nick, hilt of the dagger sticking out of his back, dropping face first onto the floor. Kat ran over to inspect the body. The knife was definitely in his back, and it was definitely the bronze knife she'd coated with Sam and Dean's blood. And Nick wasn't moving, even when she kicked him in the ribs.

"Oh my God, I did it," she breathed. Then she giggled, her hot breath bouncing back at her inside the helmet. "I fucking did it. I threw it and I hit him! He's dead!"

Thundering footsteps behind her made Kat spin around, her fists already up to settle another fight. Sam and Dean stopped abruptly, holding up their hands. Dean groaned and moved one to his head.

"Fuck, don't—don't kick me again, okay?"

"What's with the helmet?" Sam asked her, panting.

"I wasn't about to get spat at," Kat answered without lowering her fists. "Are you guys okay? Like, are you you?"

"Yeah, we're us," said Sam. "I think the enchantment died with the siren."

"Are you sure? Cause you've both still got venom in your blood. I don't need you rushing me because I killed your boyfriend."

"Hey, no," Dean snapped. "This—This was all strictly fraternal, okay? Nick wanted to be the world's best brother, not anyone's boyfriend."

"Wow, insecure much?"

Kat snorted, but lowered her hands. She leaned down to yank the dagger out of Nick's back, grimacing at the wet, slick sound it made. She wiped the blood off on his suit jacket. No need to stain the hallway carpet. When she was certain he wasn't going to make any last ditch attempts to come back from the dead, she strapped the knife back onto her leg and pulled off her helmet.

"We should head out," she said, shaking out her hair. "Receptionist was getting ready to call the cops when I got here. You guys good?"

She'd expected them to do that thing they always did—a silent conversation with their eyes, assessing each other's injuries and planning their next steps. But Sam and Dean didn't even look at each other. They both nodded shiftily, looking over their own injuries. They deflected like absolute champs.

"I'm good," Dean said gruffly, just as Sam mumbled, "Yeah, I'm fine."

Kat groaned. The Winchesters certainly pushed that word to its limits.

"Fine," she repeated. She pointed to Dean, Sam and herself in turn. "Body, lobby, Bobby. Let's try and get out of here without getting arrested, huh?"

She only felt fractionally bad about leaving the boys to clean up the mess. She had her own physical mess to clean up—her tornado of a hotel room. It would probably take her twice as long to shove her things back into her bags and get them downstairs. But before she did anything else, she picked up her hotel phone and dialed the front desk.

"Yes, hello? I'm calling about that awful racket down the hall. If that's the kind of establishment you're running, I'd like to check out immediately. Is there someone I can speak to about a refund?"

Thirty minutes later, she was walking back to her car with her bags packed and a pocket full of cash. The Impala pulled up alongside her as she tossed her stuff in the backseat. Sam and Dean looked just as disgruntled as they had before. She decided to skip asking about the body.

"Finally, there you are," said Sam, rolling down his window. "What'd Bobby say?"

"Nothing. I haven't called him yet."

"Seriously?" asked Dean. "Then what the fuck have you been doing?"

"Negotiating." Kat waved the wad of bills at him smugly. "I checked out and got my money back. Not at of us broke down doors."

The chilly beat that followed confirmed her suspicions. Still too soon for jokes.

"Come on, I'll buy dinner," Kat placated. "I'll follow you to the first diner?"

"Actually, uh…I'm not that hungry," said Sam. He glanced at Dean—for confirmation or backup, she couldn't tell.

"Yeah, getting brainwashed's got me kinda beat," Dean agreed. "Say we head east, find another motel, get some rest."

"Okay…sure…"

Kat crawled into her car as Dean peeled out of the parking lot. Granted she'd only been with the guys for a few cases, but she was already learning some basic things. Any way a case could get more complicated, it would. Sam and Mexican food was a bad combination. Don't get involved in the sibling drama. And a Winchester hunt that ended without burgers and beer was no good sign.

She waited until she was back on the road to make her courtesy calls. The Roadhouse was first, just to give the Harvelles the all clear and thank them again for saving their asses. Ellen gave her some attitude about not calling in the first place, but also told her it was a job well done and she should check in again soon. Preferably when she had blackmail worthy pictures of Dean in gym shorts.

Bobby was next, and as Kat suspected, had a good rant to let out on her.

 _"_ _What part of hightail it out of there did you not understand?"_

"Honestly, the whole thing. I told you, we're all fine and it's taken care of. You should probably call Ellen, by the way. We had huge chunks of the mythology missing. Be good to know for next time."

 _"_ _Yeah, that's just what I need,"_ Bobby grumbled. _"Ellen Harvelle holding that over my damn head."_

"What happened to 'sweetheart'?" Kat asked slyly.

 _"_ _Watch it, girlie."_ He pulled the phone away from his ear for the next few words, only the disgruntled tone making it through. But when he continued, it was gone. _"You say the siren got both of 'em?"_

"Yeah," she sighed. "I only got there for the tail end, but it seemed like Nick pitted them against each other. A sort of duke it out to the death kind of thing."

 _"_ _Well, least those boys are pretty easily matched. Fight coulda been a lot worse."_

"To be honest, I'm not sure it wasn't."

 _"_ _What do you mean?"_

"Just something Dean said." Kat chewed on her bottom lip, eyeing the taillights of the Impala. "It sounded like they'd been arguing, like while they were fighting. He said something about Sam calling him weak. That he was holding him back."

The noise Bobby made was not particularly comforting.

 _"_ _That's what I was afraid of,"_ he said gravely. _"That's the thing about psychic creatures. They root around your head, find the bad parts and spin 'em into something even worse. One brainwashed junkie spilling his guts is bad enough, but if they were both going at it…"_

Kat didn't need him to finish. Siblings could be cruel, and the Winchester closets held a lot more skeletons than most. She could only imagine what sort of things Sam and Dean had been throwing at each other. And she didn't want to.

"They say they're fine," Kat offered. "I'm sure they've said nasty shit to each other before. It's psychic monsters, like you said. It's not…It's not like Sam meant it, right?"

 _"_ _Course not,"_ Bobby agreed. _"They got their differences, but…"_

He trailed off. Kat couldn't have agreed more.

 _"_ _Just keep an eye on those idjits for me. Things start turning sour, gimme a heads up. I'll come put 'em in their places."_

"Yeah, sounds good. Thanks, Bobby."

The roadside motel Dean pulled into was nothing exceptional—just an office building and five or six doors on the strip. No one spoke as they signed in at the office, not even the withered old receptionist. He just took their cash and prodded them with his clipboard for information. Kat had the feeling it was a don't-ask-don't-tell kind of business.

As they headed down the row to rooms five and six though, Kat finally cleared her throat.

"Hey, Sam, why don't you let me patch you up before you pass out? Make sure you don't bleed all over your pillow."

"Hm?" Sam looked down at himself, apparently forgetting about his split hand and neck. "Oh, uh yeah. Thanks, Kat."

He followed her over to her room on the end, going in first when she stepped aside. Dean snorted as he unlocked his own door.

"Friggen' baby. Why don't I get patched up, huh? You kicked me in the face."

"Aw, so sad. Do you want me to kiss and make it better?"

Dean squinted at her. "…is that an option?"

"Wha…? No, jackass! You said—I'm making fun of you."

"Well if it's not an option, don't offer!"

Kat ground her teeth and slammed the motel door behind her. She rounded on Sam, who hadn't even jumped at the noise. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at the carpet, completely in his own world. Kat reeled herself back in.

She grabbed her first aid kit from her duffle bag and pulled up a chair. Sam offered her a small smile as she started with his hand, then looked back to the floor.

"How you feeling?" she asked as she wiped away the blood.

"Not bad. Just a few nicks and bruises. Nothing I can't handle on my own."

"Yeah. Probably."

Sam smiled ruefully. "So what's the real reason I'm getting treated by Dr. Moore?"

"Easy." Kat shot the wipe into the garbage can and grinned back at him. "You're gonna tell me what happened. Dean wouldn't."

He let out a weak laugh, and she moved to find some bandages for the slash, still smiling.

"Well, you're not wrong about that. How did Dean get infected anyway?"

"Tequila shot. He and Nick were already drinking by the time I found them at the club. They roped me into some drinking game and—well, honestly I think Nick was angling to get me out of the way first. But I wouldn't take the shot, so Dean grabbed it out of my hand."

"Sounds about right," Sam chuckled.

"He started acting kind of weird after that, and Nick was suddenly trying to get me away from the table, so I put two and two together. I gave Bobby a call and had him run Nick's name. By the time he confirmed what was up, they'd already split."

"How'd you find us?"

"Lucky guess, really. I was back and forth on the phone with Bobby and Ellen. She was the one who suggested you were probably the target. Since you weren't at the bar or the hospital…"

"I was heading to the bar," he assured her. "But Dean called me. He said you were the one acting weird, that the siren had spiked your drink or something. I came here to regroup with him before you bought a plane ticket to California or something. Came in, Dean grabbed me, and...two and two jumped together pretty quick after that..."

With his free hand, he ghosted over the cuts on his neck. Blood had already dripped down to the collar of his shirt. It would probably take a while to heal, but they could easy pass as shaving cuts. It wouldn't be too noticeable for him to slap a few band aids on there. Still, she knew he was hurting.

"What about you?" she asked gently. "If Dean already had you at knifepoint, why poison you?"

"Ha. The drama, I guess. He uh...said that we had some stuff to unload, that we should work it out and then...whoever lived got to be with him."

"So what'd you say?"

Sam did not answer her. Kat did not find this particularly surprising. He was avoiding her eyes, fidgeting—something made all the more obvious by the fact she was still holding onto his hand. She let him stew until she's finished wrapping it up. Then she grabbed a fresh wipe for his neck and physically turned his head toward her.

"See, me asking was a courtesy. I already know what you said."

He jolted in her hands, eyes wide with fear. "You do?"

"Yeah." She tried to keep her voice casual, focusing on his cuts. "I got there for the tail end of it. Right before Dean went all Paul Bunyan on you. Apparently you think you're a lot better than him, and he holds you back."

"Of course I don't. I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for Dean. Or you. All that stuff was just the siren. Honestly, Kat. You have to believe me."

"Hey, I'm not the one you have to convince."

"Right," Sam scoffed. "Well I doubt Dean's gonna see it that way."

"What did he say to you?"

"Nothing he hasn't told me before. That I changed while he was in Hell. That he barely knows who I am, that I'm hiding things from him."

"Are you?" Sam glared at her, and Kat rolled her eyes. "Don't look at me like that. I have every right to ask if you're lying to me, and I know you are."

The curiosity that flickered across Sam's face gave way to resignation almost instantly. "Dean told you about the phone calls."

"Yeah. Probably would've figured out myself, seeing how obsessed you've been with your phone lately. Would've been nice to hear it from you, though."

"I wasn't lying," he said, very carefully. "I never said I was gonna stop talking to Ruby. She's just keeping tabs on demonic omens for me. To help keep you safe."

"Then why hide it?"

"Kat, you hate Ruby. So does Dean. And for what it's worth, she pretty much hates both of you. I just thought it'd be easier for everyone involved."

"Great. So we're going back to the plan where you take advice from Ruby without telling the rest of us. Cause that worked out so well for you last time."

She clapped a pile of gauze and tape into his hand, turning her back on him. She packed up her first aid kit as he patched up his neck. After that, Kat started pulling things out of her duffle while Seam went to wash his hands. She chose her pajamas, and he stood in the doorway to the bathroom, drying his hands past the point of dry.

Kat bit her lip. It was pointless to ask—but she had to try, didn't she?

"Is there anything else I should know, Sam? About what happened today? About Ruby?"

"No. I promise."

His voice was resolute, but with the bathroom light behind him it was hard to see his face. Kat could only nod. If he was lying, she'd find out the truth eventually. There wasn't much she could do about it now.

"Hey, one other thing," she said, fishing around her bag for her toothbrush. "How come you weren't answering my calls before?"

"I told you," said Sam, "Dean said you'd been brainwashed by the siren, so I didn't want to take any chances."

"Yeah, but I called you before that. Like, right after he got infected. I tried you like six times. Were you ignoring me?"

"No, no, I—not ignoring you, I just…I guess I was putting it off until I caught up with you guys at the club. You know, in case you were mad at me."

"Why would I be mad at you?"

His guilty face spoke volumes.

Kat grabbed the first shoe out of her bag and chucked it across the room at him.

"You _fucking_ idiot! You slept with her? Literally _right after_ I told you not to?"

"Hey, hey!" He yelped, dodging another shoe. "She came onto me!"

"Which is exactly why you should've shut her down! What if she'd been the siren, huh, Sam? Then I would've had to hunt _your_ lovesick ass down and save your skin!"

"You had to do that anyway!"

She growled at him and marched toward the bathroom. She was very anxious to take her frustration out on the door, but Sam called her back before she could slam it shut.

"Kat! Hey, seriously, you…you really saved our asses this time. Between the interviews and the brainwashing and the sick knife throwing—you know, I really feel like you solved this whole case."

"Huh." She stood up a little straighter, replaying the past few days in her head. "I guess I did. Glad we agree on something."

"Thank you," Sam said earnestly. "Kit Kat saves the day."

Like that, her glare was back in place.

"Get the fuck out of my room, Winchester."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hey everyone! Sorry for the delay in this chapter. I've been sick this week (stomach bug, not The Virus™) so I slept through most of Tuesday. I hope you're all being safe and staying healthy. Recluse yourselves inside with some good reading and good shows, and hopefully we'll all live to tell the tale. Unless this is one of Chuck's alternate endings...

As always, thank you for reading!

-Brittney


	49. Chapter 49

Kat had known there was going to be some tension after their case in Iowa. She had not realized it was going to be this bad.

Over the next few days, Sam and Dean were impossible. It wasn't that they weren't speaking to each other, because they were. They talked about potential cases, directions, food, the weather. It was all painful small talk that would give way to heavy silence as soon as they'd exhausted a subject.

That was the best case scenario. Other times they would bicker and argue until one or the other stormed out of the room. It wasn't always about the siren case—not directly anyway. But Kat had lost count of the number of time Dean had sourly pointed out his own fear and weakness, or Sam had made reference to "the old Sam." Honestly, she couldn't decide which version of the Winchesters was worse: the volatile anger or the teeth-grinding civility.

She couldn't have been more thankful to have her own hotel room. And her own car for that matter. The more time she could spend away from their drama, the better. Even then, she spent her nights devising ways to diffuse the tension when they were together. She let Sam ride shotgun in the Prius. She started making their runs longer to keep him out of the hotel room. She watched shitty movies on TV so she'd have something to talk to Dean about. She even looked up concert tickets in the area to give them a break. She was prepared to subject herself to two hours of a Bon Jovi cover band if it got her some peace of mind.

But Dean nipped that in the bud right away. He shot her down, not because he hated cover bands, but because, "We should be focusing on finding a new case, not screwing around. That's what all the best hunters do. Isn't that right, Sammy?"

Sam had stormed out into the parking lot before Kat had even mustered up a dirty look.

In reality, she knew that Dean was being the problem child. He was always the first to pick a fight. But he was angry, and it was hard to fault him when Kat knew exactly what Sam could be holding back.

Her conversation with Castiel had been weighing heavily on her mind. Even if Sam was telling the truth and he was only talking to Ruby for intel, how long would it stay that way? How long would it be before she convinced him to use his powers again? When they'd faced off with Alastair, it had taken her all of sixty seconds. The longer the Apocalypse loomed over their heads, the closer Lilith got to breaking the final seals, the easier it was going to get. Kat didn't like to think it, but it felt like it was only a matter of time until Sam started using his abilities again. And that was if he wasn't using them already.

She had fully intended to keep these opinions to herself. It certainly wasn't going to make things any easier. But after so many days on knife's edge, walking on eggshells around the guys, she was more than a little irritable.

"I just don't get him," Sam complained to her one day, once they caught a moment alone.

They were in a deserted laundromat. At Kat's suggestion, she and Sam agreed to take care of the laundry if Dean paid for dinner. It would get them two or three hours of separation anyway. Kat had her feet kicked up on the center island, flipping through her old notebooks and trying to put them into chronological order. She was only half-listening to Sam's tirade.

"I've apologized to him like a thousand times. He doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't want to get off my back. So what the hell does he want from me?"

"Uh huh."

"He knows as well as I do that I was only saying those things cause the siren made me. I was brainwashed. We both were!"

"I know."

"And he wants to pin this whole thing on me! As if I was the only one who said some messed up shit."

"Well…"

Kat didn't even realize what she'd said until the silence crept in. She looked up from her notebook to find Sam staring at her, his brow furrowed, a half-folded flannel dangling from his hands.

"Well what?" he demanded.

"Sorry," she sighed, shaking her head. "That's not what I meant. Obviously what Dean said to you was fucked up. It doesn't matter what you do, you're always going to be his brother. He's always gonna know you better than anyone else, and care about you twice as much. You're the world to him, you know? If you weren't, he wouldn't have tried to kill you in the first place."

"But?"

Kat looked at him, trying to remain sympathetic. "You don't think it's a little weird that when the siren infected Dean, he said a bunch of screwed up stuff he thought was true, and when you got infected you said a bunch of supposedly fabricated bullshit?"

" _Supposedly_?" He glared at her, astounded. "Kat, you can't honestly believe I think I'm better than Dean. Or that I think he's weak. What's wrong with you?"

"What's…?"

She cackled, and tossed her notebook onto the counter. All of her sympathy had burned up in an instant, like a brushfire going up in flames.

"Okay, Sam. You want honesty? I think that you're jealous."

"Jealous?" Sam spluttered. "Why the hell would I be jealous of Dean? He's been through hell, in _Hell._ You've seen how twisted he is over it!"

"And the angels still picked him to spearhead the Apocalypse fight," she said. "I think you're pissed they picked Dean, after all the shit he's done, because you've convinced yourself that you're the one doing all the work. I think you're talking to Ruby again. I think you're sleeping with Ruby again. And I think you're using your demon powers with Ruby. Again. And that's got you feeling stronger, cause you can do all this shit the rest of us can't. And that makes you feel brave, because you're not afraid to use this dark shit inside of you that everyone else keeps telling you to swallow. And you're still lying about it, because you think we're all so innocent and naïve and dumb that none of us could possibly fathom what's going on in your psyche. How am I doing? Am I getting warm?"

Sam gaped at her. She would have been happier if he'd stayed that way. Instead, he gathered himself together to say the most profound, convincing thing he could manage.

"I…I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right." Kat clenched her teeth, and stood up abruptly. "I can't believe you managed to lie to me for over a year. You're shit at it."

She rounded on the dryer, yanking it open before it had finished its cycle. Her clothes were dry enough. She just wanted out.

Sam beat her to it. She heard him scoff and storm toward the front of the store.

"I'm not watching your clothes," she called over her shoulder. "You leave, I'm gonna let someone steal it all. I'm not gonna fold your crap."

The bell on the front door rung angrily in response, and then slammed shut in finality.

"Whatever," Kat grumbled. "Have it your way."

She was doing the right thing. She just had to keep reminding herself. The nice thing? No. But that wasn't really her concern. It wasn't going to be her job to make Sam feel better about lying to her just because he had good intentions. As far as she was concerned, she'd tried that already. She'd found common ground, accepted that she lied about things too, and put it behind her. Her only condition had been that he didn't do it again. It was her one fucking rule. Not even that he had to stop talking to Ruby, just that he stop lying about it. And what did he go and do? Lie about it directly to her face.

Kat was done keeping the peace. Sam Winchester could fucking choke.

The problem was that she still felt bad about it. Who was she helping by railing on Sam? He clearly wasn't going to listen to her. Now she just had to put up with his bitch mood, or his sad puppy eyes and dejected attitude. She wasn't even sure if Dean would high-five her or make her apologize. And the more they fought about it, the longer it was going to go on.

She wanted to do the right thing. But the longer she travelled with the Winchesters, the more confusing that seemed to get.

Kat folded her clothes meticulously, glowering down at each item as she worked. This was why she'd never wanted to hunt full time. Nothing made sense anymore. There were no deadlines, no bills, no standards. Just the job, and saving as many people as she could before someone gutted her too. She needed some kind of structure or she was going to go out of her mind. She needed to know how to do something properly.

With her laundry loaded in the backseat, Kat climbed into the Prius and took off. She drove right past the diner where they were supposed to get dinner. She did not want to see the Winchesters right now. She'd asked the laundromat attendant to keep an eye on their machines until Sam got back, and that was the only courtesy she planned on extending them for the evening.

The highway stretched on for miles and miles. She wasn't even sure if she was in the same town anymore. It was a dumb idea to run off on her own, but she needed some distance. So she drove until she found a clearing off the side of the road, parked her car behind a patch of trees, and popped her trunk.

Everything was still jumbled up into a mess. Kat tied up her hair and put on her headphones. This, at the very least, was something she could handle.

Organizing turned out to be the distraction she needed. She took everything out of the trunk and sorted it into piles on the ground. She untangled the ropes, sharpened her knives, hand-picked each of the stray bullets rolling around the boot. For now it was all getting put back in quadrants—guns, ammo, and bulkier items over here, ghost essentials there, knives and everyday use. Everything was separated by a thin wall of scarves and mittens, something her mother had snuck into her backseat when they'd been at Bobby's. They did the job for now, but Kat was already planning a trip to hardware store to get a bunch of duffels and toolboxes. She wanted to make something with a trick bottom like Ellen had.

By the time everything had been re-sorted into her car, the sun was dipping behind the trees. Kat pulled on a sweatshirt and climbed into her backseat. She threw her legs over the front console, stretching out as much as she could, and fished her phone out of her pocket.

There was one missed message from Dean, asking where the hell she was. She texted him back to assure him she was alive, and passing on dinner. Before he could ask, she sent him directions to the clearing, only in case of an emergency. They were not invited, and she did not want to see them.

She flicked through her contacts and brought the phone up to her ear.

 _"Hello?"_

"Hey, Mom. It's me."

 _"Huh, would you look at that. My daughter finally decided to check in. It's a miracle."_

"Sorry," Kat offered, smiling sadly at her dashboard. "Last case got kind of tough."

 _"Yes, so I've heard."_

"…from who?"

 _"Well I didn't have the number for your new burner phone. So when you didn't check in, I called Bobby."_

Kat rubbed a tired hand down her face. "Of course you did."

 _"Don't sass me. From what I understand, I had every right to worry. A case like that and you ignored his explicit instructions to get out of town?"_

"Yeah, well maybe I don't like following instructions."

 _"Ha! You don't need to tell me that."_

"Wonder where I get it from."

 _"Yes, well. You don't need to tell me that either_." Her mother chuckled—a low, warm sound. _"Anyway, it sounds like you cleaned things up pretty well on your own."_

"You know, I did," Kat agreed. "If it wasn't for me, Dean would probably be in prison, and Sam wouldn't have a head."

She could've laughed at the horrified silence that followed. Instead, she explained.

"Sirens brainwash you into killing the people you care about. By the time I showed up, Sam and Dean had both been dosed and they were getting ready to finish a death match. Had to wrestle an emergency axe out of Dean's hands."

 _"My God,"_ her mom sighed. _"I know I always ask you to talk to me, but sometimes I wish I didn't know what you were doing on your road trip."_

"Sorry. Constantly toeing the line between honesty and blissful ignorance."

 _"How are the boys handling it?"_

"Like a pair of middle school girls fighting over a guy. They're intolerable."

 _"Alright. Well, I meant with the trauma of almost killing each other, but it's good to know your opinion of them hasn't changed."_

"Please," Kat scoffed. "Sam and Dean are always dying, and I'm sure they've tried to kill each other more than once. This is nothing new."

 _"Then what are they fighting over?"_

Kat hesitated. Even after their faux-family dinner at Singer Salvage, she hadn't felt comfortable breaching the subject of Sam's demon powers with her mom. Sure, she'd loved Sam through everything else that had happened, but Kat wasn't sure how far her forgiveness would go. And as much as she hated Sam sometimes—most of the time, even—there was something in her that wanted to preserve that doe-eyed respect her mother had for him.

"They…said some stuff they didn't mean during the fight," Kat said carefully. "The brainwashing took control and targeted their insecurities. So Sam was going on about how he's so much stronger and better than Dean, and Dean…I guess he said something about how Sam wasn't a good brother. That he was a disappointment."

 _"Wow. No wonder they've been at each other's throats."_

"Yeah, it's—it's been rough."

 _"I can imagine. Are you sure you three are really up to hunting like this? I mean, in this condition—maybe you should all just go back to Bobby's for a week or two. Or not Bobby's obviously. You're in hiding. Just taking a break from all these cases."_

"We have been taking a break," Kat assured her. "Today I did my laundry, and right now I am actually cleaning out my car."

Her mother snorted indelicately. _"They must really have you stressed if you're cleaning."_

"Not funny."

 _"I know, I know. Just…think about it, okay sweetheart? I always wanted you to hunt with Sam because I thought you'd have reliable backup. But if the boys are preoccupied, that puts you in as much danger as them."_

"I got it, Mom. I'll be careful. It's Sam and Dean, you know? I'm sure they'll bury their man pain pretty soon."

Her mother laughed. The sound made Kat smile, put her at ease. It was what she missed about home the most. Forget her routine or the gym or her bed. She just wanted her mom back. They fought constantly, but at least she made sense.

"I miss you," she admitted quietly. "A lot."

 _"Oh, sweetheart. I miss you, too. And I know that I spend a lot of time berating you for all these risks you're taking and not coming home, but…I'm really proud of you. I mean, Bobby told me how you killed that siren, and I was like, 'Yes! That's my baby! She's the one who saved everyone's asses!'"_

"Maybe not everyone," she snorted. "Let's not get hasty."

 _"Hey, you are working to prevent the Apocalypse. If that's not saving everyone, what is?"_

Kat's chest swelled with pride. Sure, they were fighting a losing battle, and she'd only saved half a seal yet. But they were doing good work, even if it wasn't a good job.

 _"I better let you go,"_ her mom sighed _. "I'm sure there will be some hobgoblin jumping out at you soon, and I don't want you caught off your guard."_

"I love you, Mom," Kat giggled, shaking her head.

 _"I love you too, Kat. Get some rest."_

The call ended, and Kat listened to the static of the dead connection for a moment. She couldn't even bring herself to put the phone down. All her exhaustion seemed to hit her at once, and she slipped down her seat.

She was tired of playing middle man. She was tired of living on the road. She was tired of second guessing her actions and her emotions and analyzing how she was allowed to feel and react to things. She was just damn tired. And she was going to close her eyes.

A sharp rap on the glass made her shoot upright, out of her skin. She grabbed her billy club and…

"Woah! Take it easy, Sleeping Beauty. Time to rise and shine."

Dean was peering in through the window, backlit by sunlight and a blue sky.

Kat looked around, disoriented. She was still in the backseat of the Prius, lying on her side with one foot tucked beneath her and the other propped on the front console. Her hair was sticking to her face, her mouth dry and tart, and all at once her migraine hit her like a truck.

"Fuck," she groaned, gripping her head. She blindly swatted at the door until the window rolled down. "What time is it?"

"About eight o'clock."

"And you just checking on me _now_?"

"What? You said we weren't invited." Kat glared daggers at him, and Dean grinned. "I'm joking. Sam blew his lid last night when you didn't turn up, so we followed you out here. Found you conked out, figured we'd crash ourselves."

She squinted past him to confirm that the Impala was parked a few yards away. She could see Sam milling around, brushing his teeth. He waved to her, looking surprisingly stony-faced for someone with a toothbrush dangling from their mouth. She waved back all the same.

"Did you seriously sleep like that?" Dean asked, eyeing her legs.

"Shut up. Do you have a water bottle?"

"Yeah, sure. Gimme a sec."

He headed back to the Impala, and Kat took a second to stretch herself out. She pushed her hair out of her face, tying it up into a knot on her head until she felt coordinated enough to brush it. Digging through her bag on the floor, she unearthed her hairbrush, toothbrush, a fresh T-shirt, and a fresh pair of underwear. Which of course, was Dean's cue to stick his nose in again.

The water bottle landed pointedly on top of her clothes. Kat didn't even bother looking up. She leaned up to the passenger seat, grabbed her gun, and held it up to the window. The grass outside crunched as Dean backed away from the car.

Washed and brushed as she could get out in a field, Kat hobbled over to the Impala. Even the overcast sunlight was too strong from her eyes. She clamped them shut, folding her arms on the roof of the car and burying her face. Dean gleefully took the opportunity to drum his hands next to her, making the metal vibrate under her head. She groaned.

"God, I feel like my head's gonna explode."

"Well how much sleep ya get?"

"I don't know. Maybe twelve hours?"

Dean whistled lowly. "Damn. Guess you needed it."

"Yeah, but not all at once. I hate sleeping this late."

"What?" He looked at his watch, then up at the sky again. "It's not that late. What time do you normally get up?"

"Usually around four, sometimes a little earlier."

For a moment, it really did look like he was going to hurl.

"What is _wrong_ with you? Are you even human?"

"What? The gym opens at five. I have to shower, do my warm up, open shop."

"Gross. What about the days you don't work?" Kat's pursed lips didn't seem to deter him. "Right, okay. Your place, always working. There's gotta be some days you don't open though, yeah?"

"Well yeah. Then I wake up, go for my run, take a shower and go back to sleep. I like the routine."

"You are so weird," Dean scoffed.

Kat rolled her eyes, which hurt. "Fuck, it hurts to argue."

"Probably cause you haven't eaten," said Sam. He patted the hood of the car and headed for the passenger side. "Come on. Café down the road, we can grab a bite and look for a case."

Without further ado, he slipped into the Impala and shut the door.

Dean turned to Kat, eyebrows raised, but she just shook her head. "I don't wanna talk about it. Meet you guys there."

She turned her back before he could say anything and sank into her car. Sam's bitchiness was an inevitability, but she would've loved to push it off a little while longer. She would've gone back to sleep to avoid him if she didn't feel so disgusting. And now that he'd said the word "eat" out loud, her stomach was doing jumping jacks.

Well, she could stand the cold shoulder for a hot breakfast.

The ABC Café was a small building tucked next to the railroad tracks. The parking lot was barely enough for five cars, and there were only a handful of people inside. Dean sauntered up to the counter, flashing a smile at the waitress behind the register. He turned back to them, but Sam was already heading off on his own.

"Yo, dude, you want anything?"

"Nah, I'm good," said Sam, without looking back. He grabbed a table, pulling out his laptop and getting straight to work.

"Whatever, weirdo. Hey there, uh—Rosie—hi, can I get a Coke, a double bacon cheeseburger and a side of fries, please?"

"Seriously?" Kat asked, wrinkling her nose. "For breakfast?"

"Hey, it's dinnertime somewhere."

He winked at Rosie the Waitress and she giggled. Kat's head throbbed with her revulsion.

"Of course. I'll take an egg sandwich with bacon and cheese, cup of coffee. Thanks."

She slapped a ten on the counter and retreated to the other side of the room. She was hoping to stand in a dark corner until her food arrived, maybe enjoy the quiet chatter of the restaurant. But of course, the heavy, ambling footsteps behind her chased that daydream away.

"Told the waitress to give you some extra grease," said Dean, joining her at the window. "Best cure for a hangover."

"I'm not hungover," she grumbled. "I just have a migraine. I just need to eat, and sit in silence."

He hummed in understanding and held up his hands. Kat started a mental countdown. And in three, two…

"So what happened yesterday? I mean, what did you even say to him?"

"To who?"

"To the Dalai Lama," Dean shot. "Sam. He was actually quiet last night for a change. Like, emotionally constipated. And I didn't do anything worse than usual, so. What did you do?"

"Nothing," she sighed. "Just spoke my mind for a change."

"For a _change_?" he echoed, and Kat glared at him.

"I don't think you two realize how much energy it takes for me to keep myself from routinely beating the shit out of you. You're both immature, irritating, and dumb as hell. So yes. For the sake of my sanity, I try and stop myself from starting fights. Because no matter how many times I've _tried_ talking to Sam, or yelling at Sam, or punching Sam, he continues to lie directly to my face. And I'm sick of it. So I called him on his bullshit and told him to fuck off."

Dean stared at her. Kat fidgeted, checking over her shoulder for Sam. He was still sitting at the table, his back to them, no sign that he was listening in. Even if he was, what did it matter? What she'd said to his face had been just as bad.

"Wow," Dean chuckled. "I didn't think it was possible, but you are definitely grumpier when you're hungry."

"Shut up, asshole."

"Hey, happens to the best of us. Honestly, I'm more surprised about you taking my side."

"I am _not_ taking your side," she said, jabbing him in the shoulder. "You are causing just as much damage by nagging him about it non-stop."

"You heard what he said to me," he hissed. His humor evaporated in an instant. "Calling me weak, dumb. I'm just supposed to let that go?"

"You're supposed to talk about it."

"This _is_ me talking about it!"

"No, this is you complaining about it," Kat snapped. "This is you two constantly pretending everything is alright, burying your issues and your fucking trauma, cause God forbid you express a genuine emotion and communicate for once."

"Look who's talking."

Kat folded her arm over her chest. "At least when I bury my emotions, I don't put other people in the middle."

"Bullshit! I was always in the middle when you and Sam were bitching at each other! There's three of us. There's always someone in the fucking middle."

"Well fine! Then it's time for you to take your turn!"

Dean growled, his hands flexing it a way that made it very clear he wanted nothing less to strangle her. But he caught sight of the waitress heading to their table before he could. Kat followed his gaze, looking longingly at her sandwich. They glared at each other, and nodded in silent agreement.

"This is not over," said Dean. "My burger's just more important than you."

He smacked the jukebox in frustration as he passed, and led the way back to the table.

"Okay, Bobby," Sam was saying into his phone as they sat down. "Thanks."

"What's up?" asked Dean.

"Uh, Bobby found something in Wyoming."

"A job?" asked Kat, around a mouthful of eggs. "About time."

"Maybe." He was already clacking away on his laptop. "Small town, no one's died in a week and a half."

"Okay," said Dean, looking for the catch. "That so unusual?"

"Well, it's how they're not dying. One guy with terminal cancer strolls right out of hospice. Another guy gets capped by a mugger and walks away without a scratch."

"Capped in the ass?" Kat elbowed Dean in the arm, only for him to swat back at her. "Yo, watch the burger! It's a valid question."

Sam snickered, clearing his throat so he could read from the press release. "Police say Mr. Jenkins was shot at point-blank range by a nine-millimeter."

Dean paused, fries halfway to his mouth. "And he's not a donut?"

"Locals are saying it's a miracle," said Sam, shaking his head. "It's gotta be something nasty, right? Like people making deals or something?"

"Are we sure these people are people?" Kat asked. "I mean, in my experience, you shoot something and it doesn't bleed, it's not human. Demons, shifters taking people's places, you name it."

"Good point," Dean agreed. "Not that that's gonna make our lives any easier."

"Better get a jump then, huh?" Sam closed his laptop, already collecting his things. "Alright. Get those to go."

"What?" Kat moaned. "No, Sam, we just sat down."

"And? I just found a case, so let's go."

"No! Just do your—your call ahead thing. You know, ask for the files, set up interviews. You can wait twenty minutes until I finish my damn sandwich."

"Yeah, I could," he said tersely. "Or you could eat your sandwich in the car and I can make the calls while we're driving, and maybe save us twenty minutes. Relax."

"Do not tell me to relax."

"Fine! You stay here and take your time, and Dean and I will do our jobs."

"You see this?" Dean interrupted, pouting at Kat. He pointed at himself in annoyance. "The middle."

"What?" asked Sam, ask Kat rolled her eyes. "Whatever, just come on. You've been asking about a job for ages."

"I also haven't eaten in ages," he reasoned, waving a hand. "Look, if you're so anxious, why don't you go ahead and get the jump, and we'll catch up with you later?"

Sam gawked at them, his eyes looking back and forth to see who he believed less. After a moment, he wheezed out a laugh.

"And what? You're gonna catch a ride in the Prius?"

"So what?"

"So, most days you'd rather die than even touch Kat's car."

Dean took a moody bite out of his burger. Kat focused all of her attention on her own sandwich. Maybe if she concentrated hard enough she wouldn't have to deal with the shit storm around her.

"Sure you want me going with you?" asked Dean.

"Why wouldn't I?" asked Sam, though how he could be so clueless was a mystery.

"I don't know. I don't want to be holding you back or nothing."

Despite Kat's hopes, Sam's eye roll still washed over her like a very annoying wave. She dropped her breakfast sandwich again and kicked back in her chair. "Why do I bother?"

"Dude, I've told you a hundred times," said Sam. "That was the siren talking, not me. Can we get past this?"

Dean did not answer.

"Well, that settles it," Kat sighed, propping her elbows on the table. "Guess I'm getting you guys one of those time-out shirts for Christmas."

"I will not hesitate to shoot you," Dean warned.

"Where we're going it sounds like you couldn't kill me anyway. It's that, or two neck holes, two arm holes, and too much time in close quarters with your brother."

"You're such a fucking bitch," he snarled, throwing his burger into the basket. "Whatever. Let's just go."

He did not ask for his burger to go. He didn't even leave a tip on the table. He just stormed past Sam and out into the parking lot, the door slamming heavily behind him.

Sam pursed his lips, looking down at Kat. "You coming?"

"I'll catch up," she assured him. "With you losers gone, I can actually eat my breakfast in peace."

She kicked her legs up on his vacant chair and smiled at him. Sam's nostril's flared, but it seemed he'd had enough confrontation for one morning. With a bitter smile at the waitress, he followed his brother outside.

Kat's smile faded the moment he was gone. The breakfast sandwich didn't even taste good anymore, and the headache that had been fading was already creeping back. She had no idea what she was going to do about the Winchesters. Even if she called Bobby and had him yell at them, she didn't see any way for them to work through their issues in a timely manner. Dean was too proud to admit he was hurt. Sam was too proud to admit he had lied. They were both too proud to admit they were wrong. What was there to do about that except slowly let it go?

She drained her coffee, fishing some tip money out of her pocket. If there was one good thing about this case, it was that when Sam and Dean finally snapped and tried to kill each other, they might not be able to manage it.


	50. Chapter 50

Moving from small town Iowa to small town Wyoming was not exactly what Kat would call an upgrade. Still, it could have been worse. The motel they'd booked was actually pretty nice—a collection of tiny suites rather than the by-the-hour variety she was growing used to. No mysterious stains, no scuttling in the walls, and she even got a kitchenette and free WiFi. It made her morning of redundant research a little more bearable knowing she didn't have to go round the block every time she wanted a cup of coffee.

She didn't have much to show for it. The longer she searched, the more certain she was that there was nothing about this case to find online. There was a case for sure—way too many coincidences for her taste. Sure, occasionally you'd see a fluff piece on the news about someone who beat cancer, or a hero who recovered from a terminal injury. But both in the same week? In the same town?

The problem was, no one had any real explanations. All she could find online were celebratory articles and conspiracy blogs, which offered her all of two options. A second chance from God, or aliens.

Kat wasn't about to put on a tin foil hat. They knew angels could resurrect people, of course. But with Dean, he'd had a purpose. He was a hunter who could make himself useful. She couldn't imagine what use God could have for a low-level accountant with a gambling problem, or a retired math teacher.

A knock on the door broke her train of thought. Kat rolled off her bed, peeking through the door before letting the Winchesters inside.

"How'd the interviews go?"

"Awkward as you'd expect," said Dean. He invited himself to sit in her desk chair and kicked his feet up. "Think we missed the window where retelling the story's still exciting. You got any coffee?"

"Not a waitress," said Kat, collapsing back to her bed.

"Ah, come on. We were the ones doing the work all morning."

"Yeah? What've you got to show for it?"

Dean stuck his tongue out at her, choosing instead to fiddle with the brochures on the desk.

"That's what I thought."

"Neither of the guys had much to say," said Sam, hands on his hips. "Shooting victim thinks he was a bad dad who got a second chance from God…"

"Yeah, heard that before."

"And the cancer survivor? He was clinically dead. His wife pulled the plug, and now he's taking her out for their twentieth anniversary."

"Mazel," Kat snorted. "And neither of them mentioned getting visits from angels? No hand-shaped tattoos or thoughts on the upcoming apocalypse?"

"Nope. Honestly, they didn't seem to put much thought into it. Guess you don't look a gift horse in the mouth, right?"

Kat nodded in agreement, while Dean sighed.

"Alright, so assuming I'm still the only one with a get-out-of-Hell-free card—I mean, what does that leave us with? Neither of these dudes sound like they made a deal, neither of them responded to any kind of demonic tests. If I have to deal with one more made-up-monster before New Year's, I'm out, man."

"Trust me, I'm with you," Sam agreed. "What about you, Kat? Found anyone dying around here?"

"Nope," she answered, leaning back against her headboard. "Not since Cole Griffith, anyway. He was just a sick little kid. Died about ten days ago. After that the obituaries go blank."

Dean slow clapped smugly. Kat didn't have the energy to jump up and beat him.

"It was a lot of different newspapers to go through, alright?" she defended. "I've also got his burial information and his mom's address. We can pay her a visit, if you like. I just don't see what good it's gonna do. With all these miracles going around, she's probably in the worst possible state of mind."

"No kidding," Sam agreed. "She loses her kid and all the sudden everyone's getting handed miracles left and right? I'd be pissed."

"You know, maybe that's all it is," said Dean with a shrug. "Not like we have much else to go on. Maybe it is what the people say it is."

"Wow," said Kat in disbelief. "Really did not expect that take from you. That's more Sam's deal, isn't it?"

"Miracles?" scoffed Sam. "Our lives suck, and everything's always come at a price. In our experience, when do miracles just happen?"

Kat held up her hands, and Dean crossed the room to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"Well, there's no deals," he offered. "There's uh, no skeevy faith healers. I mean, these souls just ain't getting dragged into the light."

"Maybe cause there's no one around to carry them," Sam suggested.

Dean looked up from his coffee in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Well, grim reapers, that's what they do, right? Schlep souls? So if Death ain't in town…"

"Then nobody's dying," Dean finished.

Kat furrowed her brow, looking between them. "Sorry, I think I missed something here. Are we talking about grim reapers as factual entities or as a hypothetical solution?"

"Uh, both, I guess," said Sam. He took the vacant seat at the desk and scratched the back of his head. "We've run into reapers before. A couple of times, actually."

"Not surprising with your track records."

"Funny. They're…well they're not angels exactly, but they're not demons either. They're just entities that appear to parted souls. Help ferry them onto the afterlife."

"Dodgy," said Dean grumpily. "Get real shifty when you start asking questions."

"Guess that comes with the territory," said Kat. "What's behind the veil is meant to stay there."

"Oh, how very poetic of you."

She flipped him off and turned back to Sam.

"So how do these things operate? What do they look like? Are we talking skull and scythe or _Dead Like Me?"_

Sam waffled, while Dean's gaze turned curious.

"What, you're making references now? Since when do you know anything about the Fuller-verse?"

"Hey, I know some things, alright? I watch TV."

"Jess used to watch it," Sam outed with a smirk. "I promise, it's not the same though. Reapers are the kind of thing that only exist beyond the veil. To see them you have to be on a different plane."

"So, dead," Kat surmised.

"Usually," he agreed. "Dean got a pretty close look a few years ago when he only had one foot in the grave. And there are certain spells and psychic tricks."

"Okay. So hypothetically, if a reaper was missing, the only way we could tell would be lack of death, right?"

"I guess. I mean, I don't know how the bodies are healing, but it's definitely an option."

"So what?" Dean asked skeptically. "The local reaper's on strike? Playing the back nine? I don't know, man."

"Well, then, let's ask somebody who might," said Sam.

"Ha. Last I checked, Huggy Bear ain't available."

"No, dude—the kid."

Sam pointed to Kat's laptop, and she furrowed her brow.

"The kid?" she asked. "Cole? Sam, I told you, he's been dead for over a week."

"Exactly. Look, if he was the last person to die around here, then maybe he's seen something. We should talk to him."

Dean chuckled into his coffee. "I love how matter-of-fact you are about that. Huh. Strange lives."

"Hey," growled Kat, waving to get Sam's attention. "Skipped something again. How do you plan on talking to a dead kid? I don't have any evidence that he's a ghost or anything."

"There are one or two things we can try," he said precariously. "Ways to contact a spirit without inviting it to the other side."

Kat blinked at him. She threw her hands up and jumped off of the bed.

"Ha ha, nope! Nope! Hell no! Fuck that!"

"Woah, chillax, Barbie," said Dean. He held out a hand as if she were some kind of wild horse. "What're you so up in arms about?"

"Sorry, 'contact a spirit without inviting it to the other side?' I know what that is. That's a Ouija board and I'm not fucking touching it."

"You do realize you _hunt_ ghosts and demons for a living, right?"

"That doesn't mean I'm gonna invite them into my life!"

"Please," Dean laughed. "Ouija boards are toys, okay? They're not real. They're made by Hasbro for God's sake."

"Dean," Sam interrupted, looking incredulous. "We _used_ a Ouija board. When you were dead, remember? That was how I talked to you at the hospital. Spirit boards work as well as anything else."

Kat brandished a victorious finger at him and rounded back on Dean.

"I am not going to be the dumb blonde that gets killed at the start of the movie. If you idiots want to mess around with shit like that, be my guest. I'm not doing it."

"It's not a spirit board," said Sam, in what was probably an attempt to soothe her. "It's more of a summoning spell for restless spirits. Forces them out of hiding."

That did not sound particularly promising. But it seemed she was the only one with concerns.

"Relax, Kat," said Dean, draining the rest of his coffee. "It's not our first rodeo. Though I guess some of us have more experience with witchcraft than others."

His eyes conspicuously skipped Sam as he looked around the room. Sam scoffed and prepared to argue, but Kat had already grabbed her purse.

"Yeah, whatever. Sam, practice your Latin and text me the stupid shopping list. I'll meet you guys back here later."

"Fine," Sam snapped.

Dean narrowed his eyes at her as she fumbled furiously with her keys. "What, now you're so eager to get the jump on Casper?"

"I'm eager to get the fuck away from you. Don't screw up my room."

With that, she stormed out into the hallway and slammed the door behind her.

Sam's grocery list was about as bad as Kat could've guessed. Sage, candles, blood, copper bowls, dirt of the gravesite. He could've pulled it from the most unoriginal horror movie and Kat wouldn't have known the difference. But she didn't mind. If she could get away from the Winchesters for the afternoon, she was down. Even if that meant going to eight different home décor stores before she could find a set of five matching candles in white. What was with people and candles during the holidays?

Even after she'd collected everything on her hellish scavenger hunt, she didn't feel ready to head back to the motel. So she just kept driving. She drove in circles and listened to her music until her stomach's grumbling was impossible to ignore. Then she stopped at a diner for her own dinner. She answered emails on her laptop, checked the gym's website for updates, sent a quick text to Jo. Then she jumped in the car and started driving the circuit again.

But she couldn't avoid the problem forever. Dean was starting to text her incessantly, wondering where all their spell supplies were, or if she was too incompetent to go shopping by herself. Ordering the shit on Amazon would have been faster. For that crack, she left the paper bag outside their motel door and retreated to her own room. Maybe she couldn't avoid her problems forever, but she could put them off until the last possible moment, anyway.

No one came to get her when it was time. Sam just sent her a text that they were ready, and the Impala was gone by the time she hit the parking lot. It was nice to know the avoidance was mutual.

Kat only caught up at the graveyard, parking behind them on the curb. Still, she was reluctant to get out of the car. She watched as the boys rummaged around in their trunk. It was a relief not grabbing the shovels—she hated digging with a passion—but the empty yard still gave her the creeps.

"I'm still not sure about this," said Kat, finally forcing herself out of the car.

It wasn't a surprise that Dean rolled his eyes.

"Relax. We're not gonna let you become Busty Coed Number Three. Besides, the kid was like ten, right? How much damage could he do?"

"Um, a lot." She glanced around the yard again, her arms winding tightly around her torso. "I hate creepy, dead kids. I'm just saying—you know, usually we're sending spirits back to where they came from. I'm not crazy about summoning one here."

"So what?" asked Sam flatly. "You're not coming?"

"…is that an option?"

Dean snorted, slamming the driver's door shut with a smug smile.

"Sweetheart, if you wanted to sit out the ritual, maybe you should've actually done some work this morning. You coulda covered one of the interviews, gone to hospital and talked to that guy and his wife. You coulda pretended to be a nurse again! Certainly my preference for coupon use."

"Dean, _what_ are you talking about?"

"You know, going undercover. The whole dodgeball deal. Redeem for one costume? We could have been squared up."

Kat blinked at him, a slow smile growing over her face. "Dude, we are squared up."

It was immensely satisfying to watch his joy evaporate.

"What? Since when?"

"Since the siren case," she said with a shrug. "I had to pose as a stripper to get into the Honey Wagon while you were taking shots with Munroe. Costume, fake name, the works."

"No you didn't," he argued. "No, no, there—there was no costume!"

"Yes, there was. I had my shirt all tied up. Tits out, bra exposed. It was the only way they'd let me in. Something I had to repeat, by the way, when you got all lovesick and let Nick suggest I had to go undercover."

"Woah! Hold on, okay—first of all, I was not _lovesick._ Second, you definitely did not have your…" He spluttered, gesturing to her own chest and then his own. "…there was no…I—I would have remembered that."

"Doesn't matter. It happened. Debt fulfilled."

"No way! No, it—it doesn't count if I wasn't there! Right? Come on, Sam, back me up!"

"Oh no," said Sam, who had been watching the altercation in amusement. "I'm not getting in the middle of this."

"Chicken," Dean shot, to little effect.

"Just stay then," said Sam, turning back to Kat. "Let us know if we've got company."

"Wait, what?" Dean complained. "How come she always gets to dip out?"

"Cause I don't want to listen to her complain, and I'm tired of reassuring her. Can we go now?"

All three of them glared at each other. Finally, Dean snorted, pursing his lips moodily at Kat.

"You hear that? He's _tired_ of you."

"Yeah, whatever," she scoffed. "I'll keep an eye out for the caretaker, start up my car if you've got incoming."

"And we're supposed to hear it? It's a Prius."

"Then look for the headlights, jackass."

She could hear Dean mocking her under his breath as he turned his back, and she snickered as they disappeared off into the shadows.

Once they were gone, she was left with the uneasy feeling of being alone. Being alone in a graveyard didn't help. She would've felt more secure in the car, but she wouldn't exactly be doing a bang up job of being lookout. So she grabbed a sweatshirt from her back seat, propped herself up on the hood, and tried to focus on her surroundings without psyching herself out.

It was easier said than done. No matter what she did, Kat couldn't seem to shake the feeling that something was wrong. She was constantly fidgeting, on edge. It was infuriating. Dean was right—they did rituals all the time, snuck in graveyards all the time. This was nothing new. She was being a baby.

It wasn't until she caught herself tracing the healing scars on her stomach that she remembered that magic and graveyards hadn't mixed too well for her in the past.

Kat pulled her hands back, tucking them under her head and forcing a deep breath through her lungs. This was not the same thing. They were facing the ghost of a poor little kid, not twenty demons and a legion of zombies. This wasn't a seal. She still had backup. She had Sam and Dean, Castiel wherever he was…

She couldn't help but bite her lip. She hoped she still had Castiel, anyway. She hadn't heard from him since their dismal conversation in her car on the siren case. Yeah, Cas was pissed at her. But he wasn't pissed enough to fuck off and leave her to be killed or captured…right?

"Hey! You there!"

The shout startled her out of her skin, and Kat nearly tumbled off the Prius in an attempt to sit up straight. An older man was lumbering down the path, flashlight held aloft, making a beeline for her car. So much for keeping watch.

"Sorry!" she said quickly, scrambling to her feet. "I—I just lost track of time. I'll just—I can go. Sorry."

"Slow down there, girl. No one's going anywhere."

Kat's shoulders sagged as she came to a halt. Defeated, she turned around to face the caretaker, who was now shining his light in her face. She tried not to flinch as he blinded her.

"You drunk?" he asked, brandishing the flashlight closer.

"No."

"High?"

"Wha—no!"

"Hmph." He peered at her suspiciously. "Then what exactly are you doing in a graveyard at three o'clock in the morning?"

"Nothing," she insisted. "I told you, I lost track of the time. I'm leaving."

"I don't think so. I'll be the one who decides when you leave."

"Fine. But if you're gonna detain me, do you think you could turn the light off? I won't be able to drive home blind."

He frowned grumpily, and lowered his arm.

"Thanks," Kat spat. She tried her best to rub the spots from the insides of her eyelids.

The man did not seem interested in waiting for her to recover. "Explain."

"Look, I'm not sure how many ways I can rephrase 'I lost track of time.' I came here to think, and I got caught up in my own bullshit, alright? I apologize for having a shitty life."

"Oh, boo hoo. Save the sob story, kid. Go sulk at home like the rest of us."

He waved her off with the flashlight, and turned to walk through the headstones. The same direction, she realized with a lurch, that Sam and Dean had gone.

"I can't!" She slipped off the hood of the car, spluttering the first excuse she could come up with. "I mean, it's…it's kind of hard to sulk at home when home's all your sulking about, you know? The way my parents scream at each other sometimes, it's…"

The caretaker groaned, turning back to her with overwhelming exasperation. But it had given her an opening. Changing tactics, Kat bit her lip and waved him off.

"Sorry. You don't need to hear this. I'll just go…"

"No, wait." He sounded reluctant, but he'd stopped all the same. He ambled back toward the Prius, dropping his flashlight to his side. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-eight."

"And you still live with your parents?"

Kat snorted, leaning back on the car. "In this economy? Yeah. I still live with my parents."

"And you don't have anywhere better to be than an old cemetery?"

"Like I said. It helps me think."

The caretaker nodded. Then he gestured to the hood of the Prius. He waited for her approval before he leaned next to her.

"Who'd you lose?" he asked knowingly, looking out over the yard.

Kat didn't bother lying.

"My sister. It's been a few years now, but my parents still fight like it was yesterday. I…I don't think they ever got over the shock. Mom's neck deep in therapy books trying to heal, dad's repressing the hell out of the grief cause he's afraid to move on. It's a mess."

"And you'd rather be here? With a bunch of dead people?"

"I don't know. It's peaceful."

"It's creepy." Kat looked at him in surprise, and he shrugged. "I hate it here. Too cold. Too quiet. I'd take the screams any day."

"Then why do you work the night shift?" she asked, unable to keep the laughter out of her voice.

"Oh, I just go where the higher-ups tell me to go. But what about you? Why visit your sister so late?"

"Simple. I don't usually need to run from my problems when the sun's up."

"You call this running? Sitting on your car, wallowing in your thoughts and staring into space? I'd call that—oh, self-inflicted punishment. But. Whatever works for you."

"I don't always just sit on my car," she reasoned. "Some days I sit in front of her grave."

"Wow," he said dryly. "Very impressive."

"I know. But it does help me. Being able to talk to her."

The man narrowed his eyes at her. "Do you think she can hear you?"

"I don't know," Kat said thoughtfully. "Guess it doesn't matter. Even just getting my thoughts out helps. But yeah. I guess I'd like to think that wherever she is, she can hear me."

"So you're a religious type," he said, though it felt like a question. "You believe the afterlife, better place stuff? All that jazz?"

Kat had to laugh. "Well, with my life it's kind of hard not to."

"Must be nice," he mused. "Comforting. The promise of Heaven. Everyone I've ever known went the other way."

"Oh. Sorry, I…"

"No, no. Don't be. Plenty of upstanding people in Hell. Just like there's plenty of bastards in Heaven. That's the problem with forgiveness and all that. A bad seed can pass through the pearly gates just as easy as a good man can get dragged to the Pit."

"Yeah. I guess so."

Without thinking, Kat's eyes drifted across the graveyard. She stared into the darkness at the place where Dean had disappeared. She couldn't imagine how he'd been managing his fear since his resurrection. Having to wake up every morning, wondering if today was the day he'd kick it, wondering if he'd be dragged back to Hell all over again. She couldn't imagine how he'd made it the year of his deal, knowing what was around the corner. The anticipation alone would have killed her. It was a wonder Dean could ever function with everything that must be going on in his head.

"I'm sorry," the caretaker chuckled. "Listen to me, going on."

"Oh, no! It's fine. I mean, I started it."

"Sometimes, I just forget who I'm talking to. It's all so redundant. I know you know all this, Katherine."

She didn't have enough time to react.

The man barely moved, and Kat's torso slammed itself back into the hood of the car. She tried to thrash, tried to fight back, but it was as if an invisible force was sitting on top of her. Her body was completely immobilized. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She could barely breathe.

"It is so nice to chat with you." The caretaker was still staring out over the yard, as if she wasn't suffocating next to him. "Our last meeting was so short. We were barely introduced. And then you were in hiding so long, fighting here and there. I was starting to worry I might never get the chance to say hello."

He stood up, turning to face her. And though Kat was prepared to see the blank white of his eyes, it still sent a shiver down her frozen spine.

"Alastair," he introduced with a sinister smile. "And you, of course, must be Katherine. I have to say, I wasn't planning on bumping into you when they sent me and the team upstairs for this job. But I am so, so pleased we have this moment to ourselves."

He leaned over her, and traced a finger down the length of her jaw. Kat recoiled as much as she could. Her nerves were on high alert. The lack of oxygen was already starting to affect her head.

Alastair stooped even closer, and took a shuddering breath in.

"Mm. I can practically smell that pretty little soul of yours. Steeped in all those nifty blessings from the man upstairs. Let me tell you, Katherine. The two of us are going to have so much fun together, after—ah. I keep forgetting. I have this one, pesky little errand I have to run. Orders, deadlines. They can be such a pain. But I promise, once I clear my schedule, I am going to devote all my time and attention to you."

He stepped back, surveying her carefully, like a museum patron considering a modern sculpture. Kat wished she could tell him to fuck off, but the invisible grip around her throat was growing tighter. Her vision started to black out at the edges.

"I'm sorry," Alastair apologized. "I know it's not the most comfortable way to go to sleep. But I can't risk injuring you, and I can't risk letting you run off. I've just got to get rid of those annoying Winchester boys. Then I'll be right back. So—please hold."

Kat fought with everything in her power to break loose. But it was pointless. Her body was stone against the hood of her car, and as Alastair walked off to confront the boys, her vision blacked out entirely. Her body slid to the pavement, completely unconscious. And what felt like seconds later, she was being shaken awake.

"Katherine! Kat, come on!"

She jolted awake with a gasp. Both hands flew up to her throat, clutching at the invisible force that was long gone. She panted in the cold night air. It seemed to dry the inside of her throat, making her cough violently as her own saliva froze. Sam patted her heavily on the back.

"It's okay, Kat. You good?"

"N-No," she stammered, looking around. "Alastair, he—he's…"

"He's gone. It's okay. Just breathe."

"Gone? No, but he's—he just—wait, where's Dean? Is he…?"

"He's fine," Sam assured her. "Knocked out. Seriously, Kat. Just breathe."

Kat nodded. She slumped into Sam's waiting arms, letting her eyes flutter shut again. Her throat still ached from being choked out. Her pulse pounded painfully in her neck, the leftover adrenaline too stubborn to ebb.

"What happened?" she asked, once she could fake a normal breathing pattern.

"I was gonna ask you," said Sam. "What happened to the lookout plan?"

"Oh, well _sorry._ I was only being choked by a high-level demon."

"No, I mean, did you see him? Did he sneak up on you? Get the drop on you?"

"No," she sighed. "No, it—it was my fault. I let my guard down, thought I just stalling the caretaker for you guys. One minute we were having a theological discussion about Heaven, the next I was pinned to the Prius. I messed up."

"You didn't mess up. He pulled the same trick on us. We thought he was the caretaker until he threw Dean into a tree."

"What about you?"

"Tried. Didn't work."

Kat furrowed her brow. "Why not?"

"Uh…I don't know. Guess I'm just made of stronger stuff."

If her throat hadn't hurt so much, she might have laughed. She pulled out of Sam's arms, turning around to stare at him incredulously. "Jesus Christ…"

"Not like that!" Sam defended hastily. "I just meant—you know, the demon stuff. Sometimes it doesn't work on me. Alastair tried to throw me, and it didn't work. So he bailed."

"Right," Kat groaned. "Well, his powers worked just fine on you last time."

"Look, I don't know what you want me to say, Kat. Maybe Alastair was weaker. Maybe I had a good night's sleep. Maybe it was the damn moon tides. I don't know any more about this than you do!"

"Come on, Sam. You've gotta have a better excuse than that."

Sam deflated. It seemed no better excuse was coming. He just let Kat scoot away and struggle to her feet without his interference.

"Please, Kat. Can you just help me with Dean? He could be hurt, and I've gotta get him in the car."

"I don't know. I managed to lug him into my trunk. If you're made of stronger stuff than it shouldn't be a problem."

"Kat…"

"Yeah, whatever. Lead the way, asshole."

It sounded like Sam wanted to argue, but he was smart enough to hold his tongue. He wearily waved Kat after him, and she followed him through the headstones of the graveyard. She could spot Cole Griffith's grave instantly. Her mismatched, discount white candles were still glowing brightly at its base. But Sam led her off to the left, where Dean's body was slumped under a tree. She moved wordlessly to his feet, while Sam grabbed him by the shoulders.

Moving Dean's body was at least three times as easy with Sam's help. It seemed like a lifetime ago she was dragging his heavy body down the road to her trunk, but she remembered it had been difficult. Like, really difficult. Now, she was pretty much steering while Sam took the bulk of the weight. It only took a few minutes to get back to the Impala, and a few minutes more to erase the evidence on Cole's grave. Then they sped back to the motel.

Kat would never admit it, but she followed Sam a little closer than she needed to on the road. She stayed close as they hurried Dean into the building and up the flight of stairs. And even after they'd dropped him safely on the bed, when Sam was done checking his vitals and confirmed he'd live, she couldn't bring herself to leave. She picked at her sleeves, trying to think up an excuse. But Sam did it for her.

"Hey," he said softly. "You okay?"

"Me? Yeah." Kat nodded stiffly, rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah, I'm fine."

But just like her, Sam wasn't easily convinced. He sat on the foot of his bed and studied her doubtfully. Even from a distance, it was easy for him to pick out what was bothering her.

"What did he say to you? Alastair?"

"Nothing. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," he said casually. "Just…you know, he Vader-choked you out. Takes a while to pass out that way. And demons tend to be chatty when they've got an audience."

"Well, you'd know, right?"

It was a weak jab at best. Sam completely disregarded it. Instead of lashing back, he looked at her with searching eyes full of concern. It was more than she could stomach at the moment. Her resolve crumbled.

"It was nothing," she repeated. "Nothing we didn't already know, anyway."

"Which means?"

"He…He knew who I was. What I could do. At least, I think that's what he was talking about. He said I had a—a special soul. Blessed, or something. And that he…had a lot of plans for me. That we were going to have fun."

She wished she hadn't said it out loud. The thought had been scary enough in her head, but repeating it made it worse. And Sam's hastily-disguised worry wasn't helping.

"He's not gonna get to you, Kat," he assured her. "We won't let him."

"I don't know if we have a choice here," she laughed hollowly. "But…it's fine. It's whatever."

"Kat, it's not…"

"It's fine, Sam. Yeah, I'm—I'm scared as hell. But I chose to come on the road with you guys. I was the one who said I wanted to fight back. And sometimes that means facing demons."

"No, it means being smart," he argued. "Kat, if Alastair knows you're here, the first thing we need to do is get you out of here."

"We're not dropping the case. Besides, I don't think he's here for me."

Sam narrowed his eyes at her. "What do you mean?"

"When Alastair was…talking. He said he had plans for me, but they had to wait because he had an errand. And before that, he was talking about how he just goes where the higher-ups tell him to go. They sent him up here with a team for a job. So if he was sent here…"

"Then it could be another seal," Sam finished. "You think it has something to do with the reapers?"

"It could," she said with a shrug. "The seal I saved in Belle Forche was about inverting death. That doesn't seem all that different from what's going on here. I'd say that's a feat big enough to warrant a seal. Wouldn't you?"

He frowned, mulling it over. "Alright. I'll give Bobby a call when the sun's up, see if he can find anything that fits the bill."

"Good. Yeah, that's…good."

Kat nodded. Still, she couldn't seem to force her body toward the door. Her thoughts were becoming frantic. If she didn't move soon, Sam was going to ask about it. She didn't want to talk it over, or admit anything else out loud. He would get all concerned and overbearing, and she didn't want a pep talk, or special treatment. She just had to move, to leave, to go…

Sam stood up abruptly.

"Hey, why don't you stay here for tonight?"

"No," she said immediately. It was so much easier when she could argue. "Absolutely not. Are you joking?"

"Kat, Alastair knows you're in town. If you're not gonna hide, then you definitely shouldn't be alone."

"I'm one door over, Sam. Besides, I know how to demon-proof a room."

"I know you do," he said, placating her. "But Alastair is a high-level player. Holy water doesn't affect him. The knife doesn't affect him. He could probably blow through salt lines in a second, and he's way too cautious to get tricked into a devil's trap."

"And what's the alternative?" she asked with a laugh. "Stay here with you and Mr. Tree Slump? Right. I think I'll take my chances."

She started for the door, but she wasn't fast enough. Sam stepped into her path. He held up his hands, warding her back toward the bed.

"Please, Kat. I really don't think you should be alone. We can take shifts on the bed, and you can help me make sure Dean doesn't die in his sleep or something. Just one night. Please."

Kat considered him, and glanced over at the limp body on the second mattress. She made her decision all too quickly. But she still folded her arms with a pout.

"Whatever. But I'm not promising he'll make it through the night. If I catch him suffocating, I might not wake you up. Honestly, I'd probably help him over the edge."

Sam cracked a smile. "Right. Well, in that case, you can take the bed first."

He didn't leave her room to argue. It seemed she'd barely blinked before he'd pulled a big T-shirt and running shorts out of his duffle bag. He tossed them on the bed, grabbed the ice bucket, and stepped out into the hall to give her some of privacy. Kat checked twice to make sure Dean was actually unconscious, and not just faking. Only then did she change into Sam's clothes and crawl under the covers.

She stayed very still when Sam came back. She didn't want to talk anymore, or reveal anything else about herself. It must have worked, because Sam did not bother her. Either he thought she was asleep, or he'd politely picked up the hint to leave her alone. Kat heard him settle into a chair in the corner, and after some shuffling, the quiet hum of the music in his headphones.

Without the threat of conversation, Kat finally relaxed. Her eyes fluttered shut, and for the first time in days, she felt a heavy weight lift from her chest. She was still furious with Sam and Dean. But what she'd never admit was that she was thankful for them too.


	51. Chapter 51

Dean was not a happy camper when he woke up. His head felt like it had split in two, not to mention the fact that he couldn't move his neck. Whiplash was a bitch he wished he was less familiar with. He tested wriggling his body on the bed, and immediately let out a pained groan.

"Morning, princess." The smirk was evident in Kat's voice, somewhere on the other side of the room. "You get enough beauty sleep?"

"Okay, your sarcasm is literally causing me pain. So could you just shut up?"

"Ouch. Guess that means you don't want this."

He tensed as her footsteps grew closer, but there was no bodily impact. Instead she dropped something on the mattress next to his head. He was almost afraid to open his eyes. But then he felt the cold radiating onto his skin, and he snatched it.

"I take it back," he said, pressing the ice pack to his head. "You're sweeter than any angel."

"Yeah, that's what I thought you said. Aspirin and water on the night stand."

He heard her collapse onto the other bed, then start tapping away on her laptop. He appreciated that she didn't feel the need to make conversation. His brains were still scrambled, and he didn't know if he'd be up for it.

For a while, they just coexisted. Kat was doing her on thing on her computer, while Dean waited impatiently for the pain meds to kick in. He waited for his skull to stop throbbing, then waited a little more. He wasn't ready to sit up, but he managed to roll his head around and pry open his eyes.

He'd made it back to the motel. The curtains were closed, but he could see the sunlight fighting its way through the fabric. He instantly picked up on the smell too—salt. He couldn't see it, but someone must've lined the windows and doors while he was out. Dean pressed his head back into the pillow, feeling around for the tell-tale lump of his knife. As soon as he felt it, he relaxed.

Rolling the other way, he was about to ask for a status update. But something else caught his eye.

Kat was indeed sitting on the next bed over. Her legs were under the covers, her laptop balanced on her knees. She was tapping a pen against her chin, occasionally scribbling notes into a notepad he couldn't see. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun on the top of her head. And she was wearing a massive T-shirt.

Dean narrowed his eyes under the ice pack.

"Is that Sam's shirt?"

"Yeah, why?"

She didn't even glance over at him. Dean groaned.

"Great. I get a concussion, and you two get laid."

"Right," Kat snorted. "Otherwise known as your brother is the most over-protective babysitter on the planet."

"Gross. I don't need to hear about your roleplay."

That got her attention. She chucked her pen at him with deadly accuracy. It speared him point-first, and his laughter immediately turned to another yelp of pain.

"Ow! Fuck, come on, Kat. I'm hurt bad enough already!"

"Then maybe you should learn not to run your mouth. Besides, you weren't the only one who got knocked out last night."

"What does that mean?"

Kat looked over at him again, eyebrows raised. "Geez, how hard did you hit your head? You remember we ran into Alastair last night, right?"

"Well, yeah, we did. But you…wait, he found you?"

"Yeah. Why do you think I didn't flash my brights?"

"I didn't…but…if Alastair found you…"

He let the sentence trail off. If she'd gone toe-to-toe with Alastair, Kat was already scared enough. She didn't need Dean to point out the obvious. But the concern brewing in his stomach was definitely starting to weigh him down.

"I know," Kat said. "It leaves the cheery question: why didn't he just take me when he had the chance?"

"Any ideas?" Dean asked.

"One. Not all that comforting, though. Sam's talking to Bobby about it now."

"Is he…?"

"Fine," she assured him. The words were comforting, but he didn't miss the way she was glaring at her laptop. "More fine than he should be, really."

"Why's that?"

"You and I both got attacked last night. Sam didn't. You do the math."

Dean's stomach sank a little farther, and he pulled the ice pack off his face. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it himself. Sam had been acting weird—irritable, secretive, bitchy. It was worse since the siren case, but it had been happening longer than that. Something was up, and the signs all pointed to one thing.

"You think he's been hanging out with Ruby?"

"No, I _know_ he's been with Ruby," Kat snapped. "We both do. Cas too, for that matter."

"Whoa, whoa—what? Since when?"

"The siren case. He popped up in my car to put me in time out."

"Why am I only hearing about this now?" he demanded. "Where the hell was I?"

"At the Honey Wagon, shacking up with Nick."

Dean glared at her, and chucked the pen back at her. It wasn't very satisfying. For one, he missed, and it took so much effort that his head began to throb again. He grunted, and pressed the ice to his head.

"Well, what'd he say? Cas?"

"Not much. Just that there were demons nearby and he knew Ruby was keeping tabs on them. Angels think that means she's still working with Sam, and _that_ means he's probably working with his demon blood powers again."

"Probably not wrong," Dean admitted grumpily.

"Yeah, I told him. I also told him that, no matter what I say or do, Sam's not gonna stop. I mean, I've tried explaining, I've tried threatening, I've tried kicking the crap out of him. Sam's gonna do what he thinks is right—heaven and hell be damned."

"Careful," he said with the ghost of a smirk. "Sounds like you're pretty close to taking my side."

He could just see her roll her eyes over the edge of his ice pack. But she didn't bite back. She just stared at her computer, looking dejected.

"The stupid thing is that it's not even what I'm mad about. Sam's stubborn. So what? So am I. So are you. I get that he has to make his own choices, and I get why he's doing it. I hate it, but I get it. What's pissing me off is that he's lying about it. _Continuing_ to lie about it, no matter how high the evidence stacks up. And he can't even be bothered to lie well."

"Yeah. Welcome to my world."

Kat snorted, finally turning to look at him. "Your world kinda sucks."

"Ha. Tell me about it."

He shot her a bitter grin before retreating back into the comfort of his ice pack and shutting his eyes.

It was a long time before Sam came back. Kat was clearly getting restless. She went back and forth checking her phone and the door, looking for news. The longer Sam was gone, the worse it looked. No phone call to Bobby should take this long. But they were both talked-out, and didn't need to voice the thought. Dean dragged himself out of bed long enough to change into new clothes. Then he collapsed onto the bed again, ice over his face, and listened for the sound of the motel door.

When it did finally open, Sam did not excuse his lateness. He just snorted at Dean's prone figure.

"How you doing?"

"I'm in pain," Dean answered grumpily. "That's how I'm doing. I think I have a concussion."

"You want some aspirin?"

"Ah, no thanks, House. Dr. Cameron beat you to it." He reluctantly sat up, only to do another double take when he saw his brother. "Seriously, are you two swapping clothes now?"

"What?" Sam looked down at himself in surprise. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

"That sweatshirt is like three sizes too small, dude. You get it at a Juicy Couture sale or something?"

"Dude."

"Hey, Dean," Kat interjected. "Never say the words 'Juicy Couture' out loud again. It's super uncomfortable. Thanks."

"So what? I talk to a lot of different chicks in bars. And sometimes I even listen."

She rolled her eyes again, turning back to Sam. "You grab my shit or not?"

"Yeah, here you go." He tossed Kat's duffle bag on the bed, then nodded to Dean. "I told Kat she could stay with us until we figure out what's going on here. Figured it's safer that way."

"Hey, I get it," Dean agreed. "So, demons, huh?"

"Yeah. So much for miracles."

"And uh…what the hell happened with Alastair again?"

Sam paused, looking shiftily between Dean and Kat. She was ignoring him, focused on the contents of her bag, and Dean maintained an expression of causal innocence. Sam cleared his throat.

"Um…well, it's like I told Kat. He took her out, used the same caretaker ruse on us. Then after you passed out he tried to fling me, or whatever, and it didn't work, so he bailed."

"Well, how come he couldn't fling you? He chucked you pretty good last time."

"Got no idea."

Immediately, Dean noticed what Kat had been complaining about. It had taken Sam several seconds to respond, and that was still all he'd come up with. They were professional liars, for God's sake. It was like he wasn't even trying, but he still insisted on lying at every turn. It was insulting.

Kat was still looking into her duffle bag, but her derisive scoff was unmistakable. Dean glanced at her, and squeezed his hands into fists.

"Sam, do me a favor," he said gruffly. "You're gonna keep your little secrets, and I can't really stop you, but…just don't treat us like idiots, okay?"

"W-What?"

Again, Sam looked back and forth between Dean and Kat. He looked pretty damn shocked. Like he'd only just realized they might be able to talk to each other when he wasn't around. Kat seemed pretty taken aback too. But Dean kept his jaw set, staring Sam and waiting for his answer.

"Dean," Sam said shakily, "I'm not keeping secrets."

Dean hummed. Not the reaction he was hoping for, but pretty much what he'd expected.

"You're right, Kat," he offered. "Like he's not even trying."

Kat raised her eyebrows at him again. He might have imagined the small smile on her face, but it was hard to focus on anything with Sam spluttering angrily.

"So—So what?" he scoffed. "You two are ganging up on me now?"

"No one's ganging up on anyone," said Kat. Her game face was back on. "What'd Bobby have to say?"

"Yeah," said Dean. "What's this theory you two have about Alastair? Why didn't Kat get swiped?"

It took Sammy a moment to give in. But working a case was better than arguing his own.

"Probably cause Alastair's got bigger things to worry about," he informed them. "He told Kat that he had an errand to run before they could, and I quote, 'have fun together.'"

"Oh, gross."

"Shut up, Dean," Kat ordered. "Not just an errand, he said he orders. A deadline."

"Right," Sam agreed. "And then he told us that he had 'a date with death.'"

"Definitely sounds like a reaper," said Dean.

"Exactly. So I called Bobby, and he did some digging." Sam raised his own notebook, flipping it open. "He thinks the reaper isn't just gone, but taken. Listen to this. 'And he bloodied Death under the newborn sky, sweet to taste, but bitter once devoured.'"

"Swanky. The hell's that mean?"

"Well, it's very a very obscure, very arcane version of Revelations."

Dean wasn't really sure that his stomach could sink anymore, but it certainly felt like it was crawling across the floor at this point.

"Which means what I think it means?"

"A seal," Kat agreed. Then she wrinkled her nose. "So what? The demons are gonna eat the reaper?"

"Little less literal. Basically, you kill a reaper under the solstice moon—tomorrow night, by the way—you got yourself a broken seal."

"How do you ice a reaper?" Dean asked in resignation. "You can't kill Death."

"Normal people can't," Kat agreed. "But that's the whole point of the seals, right? Twisted, cosmic balance. Unkill a graveyard, hunted hunting hunters, and now I guess…killing Death."

"Right. Well, leave it to demons to push the envelope."

"Where are the angels is what I wanna know," Sam complained. "We could use their help for once."

"Any word from Cas?" Dean asked, turning to Kat. "He's supposed to be on your shoulder, right? Watching your back?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "Kinda got into it with him last time we hooked up—and if you make another sex joke before noon, I will not hesitate to make your concussion worse."

Dean raised his hands in surrender, and Sam chuckled.

"Wait, so what did you argue about?"

"Nothing new," she lied easily. "Basically us not taking the seals seriously enough. Anyway, I haven't heard from him since. I think he's still mad at me."

"Mad enough to abandon you?" Sam asked, and she shrugged.

"Well, he is a couple thousand years old," Dean reasoned. "Probably pretty good at holding a grudge. You know what they say about age differences in a relationship."

"Get fucked, Dean."

"Not until my head heals, Kit Kat. But thanks for the offer."

"Dean," Sam warned with a grin. "She's already on lockdown. I wouldn't push her."

"Ah, fair enough. Either way, looks like we're gonna have to take care of this one on our own."

"What are we gonna do?" Sam asked. "Just swing in and save the friendly neighborhood reaper?"

"You got a better idea, I'm all ears."

Sam looked between Dean and Kat again, as if this was another big conspiracy they'd been working on together while he was on the phone. But Kat just shrugged.

"Hey, don't look at me. I don't know shit about reapers."

"Yeah, well they're _invisible._ The only people who can see them are the dead and the dying."

"Well, if ghosts are the only ones who can see them…then we become ghosts."

Dean grinned, and held the ice pack back up to his head. He savored the incredulous looks on Kat and Sam's faces.

"You _do_ have a concussion," Sam observed.

"Sounds crazy, I know."

"It is crazy." Sam pursed his lips, but nodded. "How? I mean, making ghosts isn't really an exact science."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but 'death' is usually step one." Kat pulled a large knife out of her duffle bag, and brandished it with a smile. "Which of you boys wants to go first?"

"Take it easy there, Buffy," Dean said, smirking. "I'm thinking something with a little less stabbing."

"Wait, you're actually thinking of something?" Sam asked. "An actual idea? Not just a shot in the dark?"

"Yeah, Sam. It's been known to happen."

"No, I just meant—what'd you come up with?"

Dean put his ice pack aside again. "Back when I was still on the waiting list for Hell, we were doing all that reading on spirits and immortality. How to keep a body ticking. And I came across a couple things about astral projection."

"Astral projection?" Sam repeated dubiously.

"Yeah, you know. Out of body experiences, spirits leaving living bodies to roam. You know, like _Charmed."_

"Dean, this isn't _Charmed!"_

"I know. You're way uglier than Shannen Doherty."

"Okay," Kat interrupted, "once more for all of us who didn't grow up glued to a TV. I thought astral projection was just a means of meditation. Tensing and relaxing your muscles, expanding your mind and stuff like that."

"Part of it," Dean agreed. "But that's just the prep work. If you know what you're doing, supposedly you can actually roam the spirit plane. See other places, even interact with your environment."

"Yeah, that's the problem, Dean," said Sam. "We don't know what we're doing."

"But we know someone who might. Someone with enough mojo to kick us over to the other side."

Dean waited to see if the light would flicker behind Sam's eyes. He was praying that it would. He didn't want to say anything more out loud, because he had a bad feeling about the reaction he'd get. Unfortunately for him, Kat was quicker on the draw.

"No," she said, almost instantly. "Absolutely not."

"Kat…"

"No, Dean! We're not dragging Pamela into this again!"

"She's helped us before…"

"Yeah, and look where that got her! Last time you asked for her help, I had to drive across two state lines to get her home cause you scared the living shit out of her!"

"Okay, well I think that's an overstatement," Dean laughed weakly. "Pamela's got a set of stones on her. She doesn't scare that easy."

"She is _terrified_ of the angels," Kat seethed. "She doesn't want any part of this battle, and I don't blame her. This whole thing is a mess, and we are not dragging her down with us! Keep her out of it!"

"Kat, I don't see a lot of other options," Sam pleaded. "We need to find this reaper, and to do that, we need to see it."

"You know what I can already see?" she challenged. "Demons! So why don't we do what we do best and go find the sons of bitches and save the seal that way?"

"Woah, now hold on," said Dean, raising a hand. "You're not going anywhere. Lockdown, remember? If anyone's fighting demons, it'll be me and Sam. And even if we do find them, that's not gonna tell us where they stashed the reaper. Hell, they could've taken 'em completely off the reservation. Save the reaper, save the seal. That's all there is to it."

Being prepared for her five-star death glare didn't make it much easier to handle. Even in borrowed pajamas she was a sight to behold. He knew logically she wouldn't hurt him, but…well, there was still a knife in arm's reach.

"Fine," she bit, deflating slightly. "But you can keep me out of it. I don't want that on my conscience."

Sam and Dean traded another hesitant look. Dean quirked an eyebrow in invitation. He wasn't about to bite the bullet twice.

"Kat," Sam sighed. "I think it's gotta be you."

She redirected her glare. "And why's that?"

"Because you're right. We've dragged Pamela into one too many bad situations, and I doubt she trusts us like she used to. We can ask, but she might not want to help."

"For good reason, Sam!"

"But we need her to," he finished firmly. "The clock's ticking, and this is our only shot. More than half the seals have been broken, and if we don't do something soon, we're gonna have a full blown Apocalypse on our hands. So, I know you don't want to. But…we need you to call her."

Kat frowned at her duffle bag. Dean was almost worried she was about to go for the knife again. But when she moved it was just to run her hands down her face.

"What does it even matter?" she asked. "You really think she's gonna listen just cause it's me? Why should she?"

"Cause you're a chick," Dean said simply. That incurred her wrathful gaze, and he raised a hand. "Sorry, but—I mean, you two had that sleepover, right? Bonding badass to badass? At least she might be willing to hear you out."

Kat bit back a groan. Her jaw clenched tight enough that it looked painful, and finally, she smacked her duffle bag in frustration.

"Fine! Whatever, fine. I'll talk to her. But I'm not making any promises."

"That's fine," Sam assured her, jumping on the opening. "That's all we can ask."

"Good. And I want the both of you to clear out."

"What?" Dean demanded. "Why?"

"Because I'm the one on lockdown, and I'm not having this conversation with you two breathing down my neck. You want my help getting Pam's help? Then you can skive off. And buy lunch while you're at it."

Dean was going to argue, but Sam gave him a stern look. This was their only plan, and pissing off Kat would be screwing it right in the face. So he pressed his ice pack over his eye, and kept his complaining to a low grumble.

"Touchy, touchy…ow!"

He didn't dodge the pen she lobbed at him again.

Half an hour later, the Winchesters had gone and Kat was left alone on the second bed. She'd changed into fresh clothes, brushed her teeth, brushed her hair, changed her clothes again. When she'd run out of excuses, she'd opted for just sitting on the blankets and staring at her phone. It was incredible how much she didn't want to pick it up.

She knew what Dean had been trying to do by bringing up the last case. He wanted to remind her how helpful Pamela had been, how easy she'd been to talk to. Pamela probably wouldn't be angry with Kat for calling. It was precisely the reason Kat didn't want to call.

Talking to Pamela was nice. She was funny, tough, relatable. She'd offered to help Kat even when they didn't know each other all that well, because that was simply what she did. She helped people. She liked helping people, just like Kat did. And Kat knew that she wouldn't exactly be repaying the favor by asking Pamela to ride a few states over and step in front of some demons.

Kat's phone buzzed on the mattress. She flipped it open on instinct, scanning the new text message.

 _"Call her now or you can buy your own lunch."_

She huffed, and deleted Dean's message. But her phone was already in her hand. She might as well get it over with.

Her contacts folder was empty. There was no point typing it all in when she kept changing phones so often. She had to look up Pamela's number in one of her old case notebooks, then plunk it into her phone to call. She waited as it rang, half hoping there would be no answer. But then…

 _"Pamela Barnes. What can I do ya for?"_

"Uh, hey Pamela. It's Kat. Katherine Moore."

 _"Well what'dya know?"_ Pamela's voice carried a smile through the tone, which only made Kat feel worse. _"How've you been, sugar?"_

"I've been better," Kat said weakly.

 _"Not really surprising. You are staving off the Apocalypse, after all."_

"Honestly, hanging out with the Winchesters is worse than fighting the Apocalypse most days."

Pamela laughed. _"Wow, you're still with the boys?"_

"Yeah. Yeah, unfortunately."

 _"Boys plural, right? You didn't go and off one of them yet?"_

"No. But I figure the end won't come for another couple months, at least. There's still time to change my mind. Anyway, uh—what about you? How've you been?"

 _"Not bad. Having the Apocalypse brewing is actually pretty good for business."_

"What?" Kat squinted at her bedspread. "But…it's not here yet."

 _"No, but that doesn't mean things on Earth haven't gotten screwy. All these seals breaking, the demons let out last year. It changes the energy on the planet. And you don't have to be psychic to feel it. A lot of people pick up on it subconsciously."_

"Great. Even when people aren't getting attacked by monsters, we're ruining their lives with our bullshit."

 _"It's not all bad, sweetheart. Sometimes the bad stuff gives us the push we need to reach out for help. Which I'm guessing is the real reason you called."_

Kat sighed, and leaned her head back against the wall. "You've still got time to hang up on me, Pamela."

 _"I could. But I like to let people shoot their shot before I turn 'em down. Clears my conscience. So, how can I help?"_

"Actually, I'm hoping you can't."

 _"Katherine…"_

She sighed, and finally relented.

"We're in Greybull, Wyoming. People haven't been dying around here for a few weeks, and we think it has something to do with the local reaper. Specifically, the local reaper being kidnapped by demons."

 _"Uh huh. And that's a bad sign of the be all, end all?"_

"Yeah. We don't know how, but Bible says if you manage to kill a reaper under the solstice moon, you break one of the seals on Lucifer's cage."

 _"And you think I can help you? Well I'm sorry, baby, but I don't know much more about reapers than you do. They're kinda the underpaid service workers of the afterlife. No one seems to talk about them much, let alone how to kill them."_

"No, we—we don't need to know how to do it. We just…need to be able to see them."

 _"Alright. Well, I can't do that either. Psychics talk through the veil. We tend not to poke our heads through. Kind of impolite."_

"Yeah, well the Winchesters aren't the most polite kids on the block," said Kat dryly. "I wouldn't ask you to do it for us. I just wanted to know if you had any info on astral projection."

There was a moment of silence, which allowed Kat to prepare for the tirade to come.

 _"Are you out of your god damn mind? I knew you kids might have a few screws loose, but this? You have got no idea what you're messing with here, sweetheart!"_

"I know, Pamela. I was just calling to…"

 _"I know damn well why you were calling! Astral projection—good lord. You know, there's a reason it's not common practice. It's cause it's tough. And it's dangerous. And it leaves you open to all kinds of nasty outcomes that you can't control, cause your body can't move, and your spirit can't defend itself. But sure. You just want a crash course in twenty-four hours."_

"I did warn you it wasn't gonna be a good proposal."

 _"Don't get sassy with me. 'Specially when I can't smack you on the ass."_

Kat breathed a laugh. "Well, if you wanna do that, you're gonna have to catch a ride over."

 _"Catch a ride? You ask a blind woman for help and then tell her to find her own way over? What kinda cheap date are you?"_

"Ha, I know. I'd pick you up if I could, but…I'm kind of on lockdown."

 _"Lockdown?"_ Pamela repeated. For the moment, her rage seemed to be traded for curiosity. _"To keep you from going, or other people from coming in?"_

"Both, honestly."

 _"This have anything to do with your little angel problem?"_

"Yeah. Everything to do with it. And I'll tell you all about it as soon as these demons are dealt with."

She held her breath as Pamela chuckled. It didn't sound happy—not by a long shot. Kat knew Pamela was probably furious underneath the façade of cool casualness she always maintained. But at least her fury wasn't so strong that the façade was broken. Yet.

 _"No one likes a tease, Katherine,"_ Pamela finally scolded her. _"The trouble I go through for you idiots, I better get laid this time."_

"I'll put in a good word for you. You like 'em tall or overused?"

 _"Ouch. I don't know. How about blonde and angsty?"_

"We'll see," Kat said with a bittersweet smile. "That mean you'll help?"

 _"I don't know about helping, but I'll definitely come. If nothing else, I owe you a smack to the face, and you owe me a drink. And you're paying travel too."_

"Woah, hang on," she said, shaking her head. "Pamela, I was kidding about the ride over here. You don't actually need to come."

 _"Oh, and miss out on the chance to kick your ass? I don't think so sweetheart."_

"Pamela, this is dangerous. The demons already know we're here, and it's only a matter of time until they find us. Not to mention, we're kind of on the clock. Even if I did want you in the middle of this, we don't have time for a day drive from Newton to Wyoming."

 _"Relax, Kat. I've got connections, and more than a couple tricks up my sleeve. And if this is as pressing as you make it sound, I'd rather do it myself. I'm not gonna talk you through astral projection over the phone. I'll be there."_

There was a beat as Kat hesitated. Nothing else really needed to be said. There were several things she _wanted_ to say, but almost all of them were counterproductive. Still, she was having a hard time keeping her silence.

Luckily, she was talking to a psychic.

 _"Well, don't go getting too excited,"_ Pamela chuckled. _"You might pull something."_

Kat cracked a smile. "Sorry, it's just…"

 _"I know, chickadee. Don't sweat it."_

"You don't have to do this, Pamela. You really don't."

 _"You're right. I don't. But I know that you wouldn't call me if it wasn't important. Hell, you wouldn't be there yourself if it wasn't important. Just that's enough to pique my interest."_

"Right," Kat sighed. "Well, I've got a bad feeling you should un-pique it."

 _"No offense, sugar, but I'm the psychic. Still, I appreciate the concern. I'll take a couple extra precautions, bring some extra mojo, drive the speed limit. Don't you worry that pretty head about me. Now where am I headed again?"_

Kat pushed her worries aside as she read off the motel name and address. She gave Pamela all the details she could so the woman might be able to get a jump on research and revision on her way over. And despite her previous concern, Pamela hung up the phone with a cheery kiss and a flirty remark.

Biting her lip, Kat tossed her phone back onto her bed. Pamela was right. Kat wasn't a psychic. Sometimes bad feelings came from anxiety, and that's all they were. For once, she was really hoping that was the case.


	52. Chapter 52

Pamela might not have liked angels, but she certainly had other friends in high places. Kat had gotten an earful from Dean for not securing the astral projection ritual over the phone. They didn't have time to sit around and wait for Pamela—a _blind_ woman, he felt the need to remind her—to make her way across several state lines on public transport. Kat had defended that Pamela was just as stubborn as she was, and wouldn't give up the info over the phone. It hadn't stopped him from chucking her lunch at her head and giving her the cold shoulder for the rest of the night.

This undoubtedly would've stretched on into a marathon event had there not been a knock on their motel door after dinner. Sam shot them each a confused look, then stood to answer it. He let out a breath of laughter, and stepped back to open the door.

"Pamela, how…?"

"Don't ask," she said, holding up a hand and walking into the room. "Just get me a breath mint, grumpy."

"A breath mint?" Dean asked. Sam had rushed to comply without questioning her. "Pam, you just made like a fourteen-hour trip in eight. Sure you don't need a Xanax?"

"You dealin'?"

Dean gaped at her snappy tone, and quickly held up his hands. Then he seemed to remember that she couldn't see that, and cleared his throat. "Uh…no."

"Then don't offer, sweetcheeks."

He wrinkled his nose at the name, but didn't have time to retort. Pamela tossed her bag to him, and it collided with his chest with a satisfying thump. She pointedly ignored his grunt of pain and brushed past him to hug Kat.

"Still the brightest light in the joint," she sighed, squeezing Kat tight. Then she smacked her ass for good measure. "With the cutest butt."

"I thought that was Sam," Kat chuckled, shirking away from the groping. Thankfully, Pamela got the hint, and released her with a smile.

"Well he was at the top of my list until you called."

"Pamela, we can't thank you enough for coming," said Sam, passing over the mints. He was giving her his best set of puppy dog eyes. They weren't all that effective on the blind. "Really. We owe you big time."

"Don't be a kissass," she warned, but she was smirking. "Honestly all three of you stooges just lost points in my book. I can't even begin to tell you how crazy you are. Which one of you brainiacs came up with astral projection?"

"Yo," said Dean, volunteering a finger in the air.

"Of course," Pamela snorted. "Chachi."

The slang flew right over Dean's head, but Pamela didn't slow down to explain.

"So, let's be clear—you wanna rip your souls out of your bodies and take a little stroll through the spirit world? Do you have any idea how heavy-duty insane that is?"

"Not really," Kat said with a shrug. "People talk about astral projection all the time."

"Not _real_ astral projection," Pamela corrected. "Most of it's a bunch of meditative bullshit. This—actually going into the spirit world and seeing everything behind the veil, interacting with it, and expecting to come back in one piece—it's psychotic. The three of you have officially tossed what's left of your marbles down the drain. Blunt crayons, all three of you."

Kat thought the metaphors were getting a little heavy-handed, but she wasn't about to step in. It seemed Pamela had spent her whole trip preparing the different ways to berate them, and she was obviously on a roll. Unfortunately, they were also on the clock.

"We get it," Dean interrupted. "Lights off, no one's home, one brain cell between us. But we don't have a lot of options here. Maybe it's crazy, but the spirit world is where the reaper is, so…"

"So it's _nuts."_

"Well, not if you know what you're doing."

"You _don't_ know what you're doing."

"No," Dean conceded. "But you do."

"Yeah, I do!" Pamela snapped. "And guess what? I'm sick of being hauled back into your angel-demon, Soc-Greaser crap!"

"Then why'd you come?" asked Sam, torn between frustration and honest confusion.

"To rip you a new one," Pamela bit back. "And maybe attempt to talk some sense into you! Messing around with this shit, you might as well sign your own death certificate. I'm begging one of you to grow a brain and knock it off!"

"Hey!" Dean barked, and rubbed his hand down his face. "Look, I'd love to be kicking back with a cold one watching _Judge Judy_ too."

"Nice. More blind jokes?"

"You know what I mean. We're talking the end of the world here, okay? No more tasseled leather pants, no more Ramones CDs, no more nothing. We need your help."

Pamela folded her arms over her chest, shaking her head at the ground. Dean's speech had been good enough that she didn't have an immediate retort, but she was clearly working on it. Kat couldn't blame her. She'd been dragged kicking and screaming into this mess too. It killed her to drag someone else. But she knew when she was out of her depth. They needed whatever kind of help Pamela was willing to offer.

Kat caught Sam's eye, and nodded toward the other side of the room. He grabbed Dean obediently, and tugged him away from the confrontation. Kat ambled over to Pamela's side, ghosting a hand over her shoulder. The mattress squeaked as the two of them sat down on the end of the bed.

"Pamela, I get that you don't want to get in the middle of this," she offered softly. "Trust me, I do. And we don't want to involve you any more than we have to. But we need your help if we're gonna do this."

"Haven't you been listening?" Pamela asked. "I don't _want_ you to do this. Angels and demons aside, it's tricky and dangerous as hell."

"I get that, too. But we don't have a lot of options. So please, just…tell us everything you know. Lend us a few candles or talismans or whatever, write down the incantation, and we'll do it ourselves. You can hightail it a safe distance away, and we won't bother you again."

Pamela snickered, each breath more exhausted than the last.

"See this is what I'm talking about. It's a hell of a lot more complicated than some fancy words and sigils. Who do you think's gonna be able to pull this off? You?"

"I'm on lockdown anyway," Kat reasoned with a shrug. "And I'm a fast learner."

"Not fast enough, sweetheart. You don't got my mojo."

"I got _some_ mojo though, right? Angel ears, shiny soul…"

"No, Katherine." Her voice was so stern, it was startling. "What you have isn't gonna help you do this ritual. In fact, it'd probably make it worse."

"Worse? How?"

"Imagine using a magnet to fish a thumbtack out of a pile of needles. Without practice, you're gonna pick up on a whole lot that's not what you want. If you're not careful, you could lose Sam and Dean and pull something else back into their bodies. Or worse, you end up on the spirit plane yourself with nothing to pull you back. "

"That sounds…bad," Kat agreed hesitantly. "But I guess I'll just have to be careful."

Pamela grinned. One hand reached over and caressed Kat's knee, squeezing lightly until Kat rested her hand on top. She was trying to remain calm and positive, but her worry kept creeping through. She watched as Pamela's smile faded. Underneath, there was just a bitter look of resignation.

"You're not gonna give up on this, are you?" she asked.

"No," Kat confirmed. "We don't really have the luxury."

"Well. Then I guess the least I can do is make sure you don't kill yourselves trying. I'm not making any promises, but you boys will be a lot safer with me than with Barbie Psychic over here."

"Hey!"

Pamela chuckled, and pushed her bag into Kat's lap. "Relax, princess. But if we do this, you're gonna have to get rid of those salt lines."

"What? No," said Sam quickly. "Kat's got Alastair and a team of demons on her tail. She'd be too vulnerable."

"And you'd be too trapped," Pamela countered. "Spirits can't cross salt. You wouldn't make it out of the room."

"Then just break the salt lines," said Dean. "Once we're gone you can…"

"I wouldn't be able to pull you back into your bodies. If you wanna do this, it means being vulnerable. One of the many reasons this plan of yours is so damn stupid."

"Well then we find another way. We're not gonna…"

"Yes, we are," said Kat firmly. "Guys, this is the only plan we've got. Seal can't break. You've gotta be ghosts to stop it. It's simple as that."

"Kat," Sam sighed, "we have no idea how long this will take. We could be gone hours, and if the demons find you…"

"Then salt's not the only way to fight back. I'll fill the whole ceiling with devil's traps if I have to. It's your security deposit, not mine."

"Oh, well thanks for that," Dean grumbled. Kat smiled, and he huffed in frustration. "You sure you wanna do this?"

"Positive. Pamela, what do you need us to do?"

"Huh. Grow some common sense. But, in the meantime, break the salt lines, close the curtains, and take some candles out of my bag. And find me a comfortable chair."

None of them needed to be asked twice.

Sam, Dean and Kat all jumped into action, following Pamela's instructions without complaint. Sam took care of the exits, closing the curtains and clearing the salt lines. Dean went around laying out candles wherever Pamela pointed, and lighting them up. Kat cleared the beds, and dragged the only chair they had between them. She also waved some incense around the room. It wasn't strictly part of the ritual, but Pamela insisted it would be easier to concentrate if the room didn't smell like dirty laundry and tomato sauce.

"Tell me something, geniuses," Pamela asked as they worked. "Even if you do break into the veil, and you find the reaper. How you gonna save it?"

"With style and class," Dean supplied, shooting her a dry smile. Pamela might not have been able to see it, but she snickered nonetheless.

"You're gonna be two walking pieces of fog who can't touch or move anything. You'll be defenseless, hotshot."

"I seem to recall a bunch of ghosts beating the crap out of us," Sam pointed out, which only made her sneer wider.

"Yeah, well, they had plenty of time to practice."

"Well, then, I guess we gotta start cramming," said Dean.

"Wow. You hear that, Kat? Couple of heroes."

Kat grinned down at the carpet where she was leaning against the desk. She was smart enough to avoid looking at either Winchester when she answered.

"I know. But somehow they always manage to get the job done."

"See?" said Dean, brandishing a finger in her direction. "Thank you, Kat."

"Alright," Pamela conceded. She sat forward in her chair, and patted the end of the beds. "Lie down. Close your eyes."

"Uh, can we use the bathroom first?" Sam asked, raising his hand.

"Dude," Dean shot, while Kat giggled.

"What? Meditation requires focus. And you just ate, like, half a pizza."

"Shut the hell up, man."

Dean shoved Sam out of the way, then bolted for the bathroom before he could recover. Sam leapt after him, but not fast enough. Dean had already slammed the door behind him. Sam pounded a fist against it, Kat and Pamela laughing at his expense in the background, but Dean just jeered in response. When the sound faded away, he allowed himself to sag against the door. He pressed his head into the wood and closed his eyes.

Truth be told, he was glad to have a moment alone. It was nice not having to pretend for a few minutes. He didn't have a good feeling about this plan. If you could call it a plan, anyway. He knew they had no idea what they were doing, and he knew they had about a snowball's chance of pulling it off. But he'd feel worse if they didn't try. For that, they needed Pamela's help, and for _that_ , he needed to at least seem like he was confident in what he was doing. It was exhausting, but he was also used to it.

He took his sweet time in the bathroom. It was half to piss off Sam, and half to enjoy the quiet before he'd have to stick his neck out again. When Sam started pounding on the door again, Dean splashed some water on his face and stepped out.

"Jeez, alright. Keep your panties on."

Sam wrinkled his nose in disgust and slammed the door behind him.

Pamela sniggered in her chair, and Kat raised an eyebrow on the other side of the room.

"Did you even go to the bathroom?" she asked skeptically.

Dean smirked, but neglected to answer.

He crossed to the window, kneeling down where their bags had been dropped beneath it. He poked around the weapons bag, pulling out Ruby's knife and turning back to Kat.

"Here," he said gruffly, passing it to her. "You should probably hold onto that."

She took it curiously, inspecting the wooden handle and the symbols etched into the blade. "Wait, isn't this…?"

"The demon-killing knife, yeah. You're the one with demons after you, right?"

"No, yeah, I just…didn't think you'd trust me with it."

"Well, if you're not gonna have salt lines you're gonna need something to defend yourself. Won't do any good against Alastair, but if he sends any cronies you'll be set. Besides, not like it's gonna do us much good. You know, walking fog and all."

"Good point, I guess."

"Just uh…don't lose it, alright? Anything gets in here, you stab first and ask questions later."

"Yeah, I got it, Dad," she said, rolling her eyes. "It's my ass on the line, remember?"

"Hey, it's mine too," he countered. "I'm trusting you to take care of our bodies while we step out. Don't let me get stabbed, alright?"

Kat laughed quietly, shaking her head at him. "Yeah, I'll do my best."

Dean nodded, and tried to clear his throat. There was half a sentence stuck there, something he almost wanted to say, but wasn't sure about yet.

"Right," he said, unable to meet her eyes. "So uh…there's more salt in the bags for shotgun rounds, spray paint for traps, holy water, goofer dust. Just about anything you'd need to fight off unwanted company. But Sammy checked the hex bags, so…you should be good."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks."

"Yeah, so um…just…be careful, I guess."

"Uh…yeah. You too."

The toilet flushed in the other room, and Dean happily backed out of the conversation. He flopped back onto his mattress and had his eyes closed before Sam had reentered the room.

The darkness behind Dean's eyelids redoubled as someone turned off the lights. If he focused, he could still see the flicking flames of the candles. The other bed squeaked as Sam copied his stance, and he stretched out with an unnecessarily heavy sigh. Clearly, his time in the can hadn't been all that calming.

"You two ready?" Pamela's soothing voice asked somewhere below him.

"As we'll ever be," said Sam.

"Let's do this." Dean clapped his hands above him, wiggling back into the blankets. "So how do we get the ball rolling? Some weed? Some Enya? Light as a feather, stiff as a board?"

"You can start by closing your trap."

He feigned innocence, raising his hands before he folded them obediently over his stomach. Someone chuckled, but he couldn't tell if it was Pamela or Kat.

"Now," said Pamela, in her gentle, work-time voice. "I want the both of you to close your eyes and breathe. Breathe in…one, two, three…breathe out…pheeew…breathe in…feel the way your ribs expand to let in the air…breathe out…and in…count one, two, three..."

Dean tried his best to follow the instructions. It was hard. He wasn't good at instructions at the best of times, let alone when they were on a case. It felt like he was breathing too much or something. He didn't like it. He kept getting distracted, listening to the ticking of the clock on the nightstand instead of counting his breaths. But Pamela seemed to catch that too.

"It's alright if your mind wanders. But bring it back to center. Focus on your breathing…in…and out… Now, when you're ready, we're gonna practice letting the tension out of our bodies. Isolate one part, just your toes…"

The longer it went on, the less annoying her kindergarten voice became. Either he was tuning it out, or it was actually working. She had them tense every muscle and relax it again. Pretend their bodies were heavier than the bed could support, then lighter than air. It took all his self-control not to break the silence with the assertion that they were, essentially, doing "light as a feather, stiff as a board." He would've, if a seal hadn't been hanging over their heads.

Once they'd tensed and relaxed themselves into feeling like lead Jell-o, Pamela moved on.

"Animum vult decipi, ergo decipiatur. Vis, vis, vis…okay, guys. That's it. Showtime."

Dean held his breath. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for, but it didn't seem to be coming. He peeked one eye open, and looked up to see the same white, popcorn ceiling that had been above him however long ago he'd laid down. He huffed, and the sound seemed normal in his ears.

"Well," he grunted, sitting up on the bed. "Nothing like shooting blanks. What's Plan B?"

Pamela did not respond. She was still sitting in her chair, stroking her chin absently. Kat hadn't moved much either. Arms folded over her chest, standing at the foot of his bed, she looked about as disinterested as he felt. But she made no move to answer him. No suggestions or witty retorts. She wasn't even looking at him.

Dean followed her eyes to the other bed, where Sammy had yet to sit up. What? Had it worked on Sam but not him? He knew he'd been fucking breathing wrong…

But before he could complain, something moved behind him. Dean glanced around to find Sam standing on the other side of the room. A second Sam, who was grinning bemusedly and very much awake.

Dean looked up to his pillow, where his own body was still knocked out.

"Oh, I am so feeling up Demi Moore…huh. _Or…"_

His eyes drifted back to Kat, who was squinting down at his real body. He was out of his seat before Sam had even blinked.

"Dude…" Sam warned.

"Ah, come on, I know. I have boundaries. I just wanna see. I mean… _Hellooo? Kat?_ "

Sam scoffed as Dean walked a circle around her. He called out to her, snapped his fingers, clapped right next to her ear. He stopped in front of her and held up his middle finger, pushing it right up to her nose. Kat just looked directly through him. Dean smirked to himself, leaning too close just because he could. Then he blew a cool jet of air into her face.

Kat wrinkled her nose, and he could practically see the shiver go down her spine. He cackled proudly, but the joy was short lived.

"If that's you, Dean, I swear to God," Kat growled, looking wildly around the room. "Knock it off, or I stab your defenseless body and we make this vacation permanent."

"Hmph. Whatever." He took several hurried steps back, and glared at Sam when he laughed. "Why does she assume it's me, huh?"

"Because you're _you_ , Dean."

"Alright," Pamela interrupted with a smile. "I'm assuming that means you two are somewhere safely over the rainbow. Remember, I have to bring you back. I'll whisper the incantation in your ear."

She got up out of her chair, walking over to Sam's bed and leaning down over him. Dean couldn't hear what she was saying, but Sam snorted next to him.

"What?" Dean demanded. "What'd she say?"

Sam smugly refused to answer the question.

"Dude, come on. Do we gotta say something to get back into our meat suits? What is it?"

"Nothing," Sam assured him. "Just that we need to stay together. Now come on, we're on the clock."

He headed for the door without another thought. But Dean lingered a little longer. He dragged his hand through the desk, watching it clip through the surface. He looked back on their bodies, just making sure they were still there. Then he looked to Pamela and Kat.

"Well. Stay safe, ladies," he said softly, and followed after Sam.

Kat felt the room temperature go up, which assumedly meant that the boys were gone. It all felt a little anticlimactic.

"That's it?" she asked Pamela, who had collapsed back into her seat.

"That's it," she confirmed. "Now we wait."

"For what? I mean, are they gonna come back in here as ghosts? Can they contact you if they need to come back? What if something goes wrong?"

"Relax, sugar. If they need me, I'll know. Why don't you let me worry about the spirit boys, and you can worry about the corporeal ones?"

"Seriously?" Kat chuckled, surveying the unconscious bodies sprawled on the beds. "What do you want me to do? Tuck them in?"

Pamela got up from her seat and turned the chair toward Kat with a pointed look. Well, as pointed as it could be with blind eyes.

"Why don't you get a jump on those devil's traps? You know, to stop the demons after _your_ ass?"

"Right…but what are you…?"

Before she could finish the thought, Pamela gave her a sly smile. She patted the chair again and moved to sit on Sam's bed instead. She curled up next to his head, one hand wandering over his shoulder and up to his hair. Kat shifted uncomfortably. When she cleared her throat, Pamela scoffed.

"Relax, sugar. I'll be on my best behavior. But you did promise I'd get laid on this trip."

"I know. Just wait until he's conscious, maybe?"

Kat pulled the chair to the door, and rummaged through Dean's bag until she found the spray paint. She still had to reference her notes to draw a devil's trap correctly. She'd been practicing doing it from memory, but now would not be the time to screw up. She didn't want to get killed because she'd messed up the order of some sigils.

She wasn't the most accomplished artist. Spray paint was _definitely_ not her chosen medium. Her circles were a little lopsided, some of her lines dripping with paint. But after a few minutes of work, there was a definite devil's trap over the door. She just had to hope it was functional.

She took a step back to admire her work, only to frown. It looked a lot smaller from a distance. Weird, how a couple lines in the right shape could stop something as old and arcane as a demon. Assuming you could trick them into the trap, of course.

Kat's eyes trailed over the rest of the ceiling, all the blank space that was left over the beds and the desk. Well. She'd already flushed their deposit down the drain. No point not being thorough. She'd warned the Winchesters as much.

She dragged the chair all around the room, filling up the rest of the ceiling with paint. When she ran out of that, she switched to markers. She'd cover every flat surface with a trap if she had to. No one was blinking inside the room on her watch.

It was grueling work. Kat nearly tipped over more than once, and her neck and arms hurt from craning back. Luckily, she had Pamela to keep her company.

"So these demons," she asked as Kat tried to coerce more ink out of a Sharpie. "What do they want with you?"

"No idea," said Kat. "But whatever it is, they want me alive. That gives me an edge, I guess."

"That's certainly comforting. And you think it's got something to do with your aura? That voice you were hearing?"

"That's about the only special thing about me. Well, that and the fact that I can rap 'Lose Yourself.'"

Pamela didn't laugh at the joke.

"So you know what it is?"

"Uh…sorta."

"And?" asked Pamela expectantly.

"And I'm pretty sure I said we'd discuss it _after_ the reaper was safe. Patience, Pamela."

"Ha, not one of my virtues," she said wryly. "But fine. Have it your way. I just thought you might want to take advantage of the little girl time we've got. While the Wonder Twins are still knocked out."

Kat hesitated. She looked down on Sam's limp body, sprawled across the mattress below her. Pamela made a good point. He was a hell of a lot less annoying unconscious. Less overbearing too.

She capped the Sharpie and climbed down from her chair. Pamela moved to the edge of Sam's bed in anticipation. Kat sat across from her next to Dean. But she didn't say anything.

Kat had explained her situation to a lot of people. To Ellen, to Jo, her mom. But she had no idea how to explain herself to Pamela. There were a hundred times she could have reached out to her—when they'd wrapped up Anna's case, at the Roadhouse, on the road. Kat could never bring herself to do it. It was the same reason she'd put off calling Cole Griffith's mother the day before. She'd been through so much. How could Kat even begin to tell Pamela—Pamela, who had dark glasses and plastic eyeballs because she couldn't do what Kat could.

Pamela was waiting expectantly while Kat wrung her hands.

"Jeez, girlie. After this much build up, it better be cancer or something."

"What? No! No, I—I don't have cancer."

"Are you dying? Is it terminal?"

"No. Seriously, I'm fine."

"Then just spit it out," Pamela insisted. "I'm a big girl. I can handle it."

Kat was sure that was true. She just didn't know if Pamela would handle it by lashing out at her. Still, it didn't look like she had much of a choice.

"Okay," Kat sighed in resignation. It still took her a few tries to find the next sentence. "So I can…There's not…I don't know if there's a word for it, really. Castiel just says I'm chosen."

Pamela raised her penciled eyebrows. "Castiel? And he's dishing details, now?"

"Sort of," Kat said with a wince. "He found us after we saved Anna. Not to fight, just to talk to me. He's supposed to be keeping an eye on me with the whole…demon-hit list thing."

"Comforting. Where is he now?"

"Around," she answered, hoping it was true. "He likes to keep his distance."

"Smart choice," Pamela called, tilting her head up to the ceiling. "Cause if I'm ever presented with that feathery ass again, you can bet your religion I'm gonna kick it all the way to Revelations and back!"

Kat snickered. She savored the few free seconds before Pamela returned to her questioning.

"So what's that mean, 'chosen'? Why you? Because of your aura?"

"Honestly, I don't know. It's kind of its own whole chicken and egg thing. I don't know if it's because of my soul, or if someone actually chose me to have these…abilities."

"Like hearing angels," Pamela supplied. "Sometimes."

"Yeah. As far as I can tell, I'm just sort of…angel sensitive. Or receptive, or whatever. Cas was rambling a lot about destiny and being a messenger of Heaven."

"A messenger? Like a prophet?"

"Oh, fuck no." Kat laughed nervously. "No, no one's giving me any kind of instructions. But if they needed to…I don't know. It just means that I can communicate with angels who don't have vessels. I can hear them, and…well…I can see them. If they're there."

Kat braced herself for impact. Pamela had gone very still. Her big, dark sunglasses did a good job obscuring her face. It was hard to read her expression. Her eyebrows had disappeared behind the lenses. All Kat had to go on was Pam's tight lips, pressed into a thin line. Her hands balled into fists on her knees, then forcibly relaxed.

"I see," she said, with a bitter laugh. "Well, I would, anyway."

"Pamela…"

"Don't suppose that's contagious, huh? Love to contract that handy condition."

"Even if it's a death sentence?"

"At least you could see it coming," Pamela snapped.

Kat didn't dare argue. They sat across from each other in tense silence. Kat wouldn't have been surprised if they spent the whole day in silence. But eventually, after what felt like hours, Pamela spoke again.

"These demons," she said, her voice much softer. "That's why they want you?"

"Yeah. Looks like it."

"Any idea why?"

"Not beyond the usual, no."

Kat looked up at the ceiling, covered in her own hasty devil's traps. Even with twenty, they didn't offer her any security. It felt like she was trying to tape her door closed because she couldn't lock it. What good would any of it do against Alastair and his forces?

"No one's actually said it," she mused quietly. "Not out loud, anyway. I guess we're all avoiding the subject. But sometimes the obvious answer is the right one. They're probably looking to take me to some secret demon facility, torture and dissect me until they figure out what makes me special. I mean, immunity to angels…I'm the first place project at the demonic science fair."

"No one's gonna let that happen," Pamela assured her.

"Not really looking like anyone has a choice, though. My guardian angel's on vacation, my mom's got a heavenly security detail in California. I've got two lame excuses for bodyguards, and they're dead for all intents and purposes…"

"And then you've got me," Pamela said firmly. "Now I might be blinder than a bat, but this bimbo's still got some juice. And if you think I'm letting you get kidnapped on my watch, you've got another thing coming, Katherine."

Kat mustered a smile, but couldn't bring herself to respond. Optimism wasn't exactly her strong suit, any more than patience was Pamela's.

"Now," Pamela said firmly. "Why don't you finish up these devil's traps and then take a damn nap?"

"No. I'm not gonna leave you…"

"Say 'defenseless' and I kick your sorry ass back to your own hotel room."

Kat pursed her lips and held up her hands. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, sugar. I got to catch a few Z's on the way over here. Now I can't exactly see you, but I know you look like shit. You're stressed and depressed, and I need you bright eyed if you're gonna fight off any demons headed our way. So kip next to one of the boys, and maybe you'll stop being so cranky."

"Right," Kat chuckled. "I'd rather sleep in the bathtub."

"Whatever floats your boat, kitten."

Kat followed her instructions. She hopped back on her chair, hoping that the rest time she'd given the Sharpie would make it work a little better. When the traps were all done, and clock was ticking further and further into the day, she finally traded her jeans for sweatpants. She grabbed a spare pillow from Sam's bed and curled up in the corner of the room. She knew Pamela would wake her up the moment she sensed trouble, but she still wanted to stay close to the weapons bag.

"Hey Pam?" she asked before she closed her eyes. Pamela hummed in response, and Kat bit her lip. "Just…thanks."

"You got it, Kat. Now shut the hell up and go to sleep."


	53. Chapter 53

It was quickly turning out to be one of the most boring cases Kat had ever worked. She hated the shitty motels they stayed out, she hated digging graves, and she hated lying to grieving family members. But worse than all that combined was sitting around and doing nothing. Which was about all she could do while they waited for Sam and Dean's spirits to get the job done.

Kat had gotten a few hours' sleep on the floor. The crick in her neck had woken her up, and while Pamela had griped that the room's energy was more peaceful when Kat was unconscious, she couldn't bring herself to go back to sleep. She'd heated up some leftovers, been refused an update from Pamela, and then decided that it was best to keep to herself and let the psychic concentrate.

Still, it didn't leave her with much to do. For a couple hours, she went back to digitizing her case notes. She liked having the little notebooks, but one good leak in her car could wipe them out. If there was one thing she'd learned from Bobby, it was to make multiple copies of anything you needed. She'd been typing up all the important information, adding headings and keywords as if she knew what she was doing. But she still didn't know how she wanted to order her notebooks. Chronological made the most sense, but what if she couldn't remember the date of her first shifter case? Would she just have to flip through all of them again?

When the notebooks got boring, Kat checked her email and did some paperwork for the gym. Harley was getting anxious with how long she'd been gone, but the building hadn't fallen down just yet. After the paperwork, she sent her mom an update about the case. Then she listened to some music. Then she played some solitaire. Then she contemplated forgetting about the lockdown and going to pick up Chinese food. Then she resigned herself to some granola bars and a water bottle, watching the sun set again outside.

This case had made her so utterly fucking useless.

After she'd typed up her notes, after she'd reviewed the case and won solitaire three times, she had to resort to Dean's way of killing time. That meant taking out her weapons, cleaning her guns, and sharpening her blades. She was too nervous to do any maintenance on the demon blade. There were a lot of intricate carvings, indicating magic that she knew nothing about. What if it needed to be cleaned with holy water under a new moon to maintain its magic, or some bullshit like that? She wasn't about to ruin the best weapon they had.

She cleaned the few knives and blades she kept in her normal duffel, then let her eyes drift to the beds. The Winchesters will still unconscious, showing no sign of rejoining the living. Pamela could've been dead asleep for all Kat knew, but she wasn't about to break the silence. It was getting late. Wherever the boys were, they had to find the reaper soon. But there was nothing she could do to help them.

Restless and frustrated, Kat grabbed the Winchester weapons bag. There wasn't much upkeep to be done. Dean cleaned his weapons compulsively, obsessively even, but it was nice to take a look at the armory without someone breathing down her neck. There were the standard shotguns, the saw offs, the pistols. Silver blades and brass blades and iron and gold. Sacks of powder and empty shell casings and a heavy, leather-bound book.

Kat picked it up with interest, running a finger down the worn spine. It didn't look like a lore book, more like a journal. But she'd never seen Sam or Dean write in one. She glanced over her shoulder at Pamela, then undid the leather buckle.

It was definitely a hunter's journal. Not all that different from Ellen's or Marcus's. But it was less organized, almost unhinged in places. Pictures and newspaper clippings were taped in at random, notes scrawled around the edges wherever they would fit. Some entries looked to be individual cases, some were summaries of creatures or monsters. It was a mishmash of valuable information, part diary and part crime wall.

Kat frowned and flipped to the back. How the hell did anyone find what they were looking for? Was there an index? A table of contents? A running list of dates? But the last few pages were blank, save for a list of contacts. She flipped to the front instead, and froze.

 _November 6, 1983_

 _I buried my wife today. Even as I write that down, I don't believe it. Last week we were a normal family…eating dinner, going to Dean's T-ball game, buying toys for baby Sammy…_

She slammed the book shut. It made a terrifying thud, too loud in the quiet room. Kat winced and looked back to Pamela, knowing she'd been caught. But Pamela hadn't moved. Neither had the Winchesters. It was all quiet, and still, with nothing for her to do.

Kat chewed on her bottom lip. She eased the book open once more.

There wasn't a lot she knew about John Winchester. Sam had always avoided the subject of his family when he was dating Jessica. Even their family dinner at Bobby's hadn't revealed too many secrets. Their mother had died when they were young, and their dad took them on the road to find the thing that had done it. They grew up in a series of motel rooms while John worked odd jobs. When they were old enough, they learned the truth, and John started training them. Gun tricks, lore facts, hand to hand combat. Dean had taken to it naturally, no questions asked. He had problems with his dad, sure, but the life they lived didn't leave room for doubt.

Sam hadn't been so lucky. From what she could tell, Sam had butted heads with his father since he'd been old enough to form an argument. He hated moving, he hated hunting, and he wanted to be normal. He'd told Jess about the blowout fight, the breaking point when he'd left for Stanford. Jess in turn had told Kat. Sam wanted to go to college, and his dad had as good as chucked him out. Said, "Leave, and don't come back."

Kat couldn't imagine what that must've felt like for Sam. When Jess had told her, she'd started inviting him over to their house more, being a bit more welcoming. What kind of dad disowned his son just because he didn't want to be a mechanic? Even now that Kat knew the truth, she didn't quite get it. John sounded like a drill sergeant, unable to let go of his military days. It was one thing to prepare your kids, but to throw away their childhood to have them fight monsters? Because he was grieving? Because he was bent on revenge, and unable to cope?

Either way, Sam hadn't gone back. He'd come to Stanford, met Jess, got his life on track. Until that cold October Dean had come back into the picture looking for John. And then Jess had…

She shook off the thought, staring down at the book. Now that she knew what she was looking at, she was almost afraid to touch the pages. The inside cover had several pins, relics from John's military days. There was even a picture pinned to one of the folders, though whether it was John or a friend she couldn't tell.

He eyes drifted back to the untidy text. She knew she was trespassing, knew she could close the book and walk away, but she'd already turned to the next page.

 _December 4, 1983_

 _Last night I was sitting in Sam and Dean's room, in the dark, and I heard these noises. Mike said it was the wind, and okay, maybe it was. But it sounded almost like whispering. Like someone whispering a name under their breath, again and again. Like something is out there in the dark, watching us…_

 _I stayed up all night, just watching them, protecting them. From what, I don't know. Am I protecting them? Am I hurting them?_

 _I haven't let them out of my sight since the fire. Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk, ask if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again. He never budges from my side—or from his brother. Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside the crib, arms wrapped around baby Sam. Like he's trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night…_

"Kat."

"Sorry!" Kat slammed the book shut, dropping it back into the duffle bag as if the pages had caught fire. "I know, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…"

"Shut up," said Pamela tersely. "We've got company."

Her discovery long forgotten, Kat jumped to her feet. She grabbed the demon knife and joined Pamela in the middle of the room. They pressed their backs together, and circled the spot.

"Where?" Kat asked over her shoulder.

"I don't know yet," said Pamela. "It's not a specific spot. I can just feel the darkness closing in, smell it. They must be getting close."

"They? How many are we talking?"

"Two. Maybe three."

Kat forced a shiver back up her spine. She tightened her grip on the blade.

"Okay, well no one's getting in here," she said confidently, glancing up at the ceiling. "One step inside and the bastards'll be trapped and ready for exorcising. I'd like to see them fucking try."

What had made her say it, she wasn't sure. But a second later, she was already kicking herself.

Something cracked over her head, and white powder sprinkled down in front of her nose. Kat looked up again, just in time to see the fracture that was crawling through the sheetrock. The ceiling split, spidery lines stretching out from the center of the room and travelling out to the corners. The cracks split each of her devil's traps with deadly precision.

"Oh, motherfucker."

"Demons must want you bad," said Pamela. "They're not sending in any stooges."

"Great. Well, I'm flattered, but not interested." She pulled another knife from her boot, passing it back to Pamela. "Here. Just don't stab the shiny one, okay?"

"Thanks for the advice."

It was all the time they had to joke about it. Something creaked in the hallway. They both froze, and the next moment, Pamela screamed.

"Right!"

Kat swung on command, catching the demon right through the hand. He howled, until Pamela caught him in the neck. Kat swung again, stabbing him in the gut and watching the fiery light fizzle out inside of his skull.

"Cool," she panted, spitting the hair out of her mouth.

The door slammed open just as the window broke. Kat ran into the fray, but was immediately knocked off of her feet. She and Pamela both went flying back, pinned into the wall. They struggled, but just like with Alastair, they were held still by an invisible force. All they could do was watch as another demon climbed through the broken glass of the window, another two from the hallway.

"Well, well, well," said one of the demons, a girl with fiery red hair. "Isn't this a pretty picture. Both Winchesters half-dead, a blind psychic, and Hell's most wanted all tied up with a bow. Long time no see, Kat."

"Meg?" Kat asked through gritted teeth.

The girl's face fell.

"Ouch. Right in the feels. Meg and I actually had something of a…disagreement. Loyalty, family ties and all that. So I'm working with my Pop's now."

"Ah. Well, sorry to hear about the break up. Get fucked."

Lana grinned, and clenched her fist in the air. Immediately, Kat felt her throat tighten. She spluttered and coughed, already sore from Alastair's assault the day before. She floundered and gaped for a few seconds until Lana released her, laughing lightly.

"See that? That's why you've gotta stay in school. Meg and I went our separate ways, I went back to class, had a little _soul_ snack, and I levelled up to a whole new kind of badass. Say what you will about him, but Alastair is a great teacher. But I guess you know that already, don't you?"

She grinned viciously, hungry eyes flitting over to Dean.

"I gotta tell you. It's kinda like meeting a celebrity. Lean Mean Dean did some great work down in the Pit. Kinda bummed I can't get his autograph. Maybe I'll have to take his hand instead. _Killer_ souvenir."

"Didn't you hear her?" Pamela growled on Kat's left. "I believe the woman told you to _get_ _fucked_."

Lana's smile fell. With a snap of her fingers, Pamela plummeted to the ground. There was a sickening crunch as something snapped in her leg. She screeched, collapsing forward to the carpet.

"Funny enough, I don't remember asking," Lana snapped. She gestured to the window demon, then the beds. "Kill all three of them. Meet me in the car. We're taking Barbie to go."

Kat only had a split second to prepare herself. Lana raised her hand again, ready to rip Kat from the wall. The moment she felt the tug, Kat focused all her energy into ripping her right arm from the control.

She threw the knife, and by some miracle, it hit its target. The window demon gurgled as his skull was lit up from the inside. Kat panted a smile, and was immobilized a fraction of a second later. Back into the wall, down to the floor, then her head collided with the bedframe. She'd barely caught her breath before a hand weaved through her hair, yanking her head back into place.

"You know," Lana growled, spittle flecking Kat's chin. "You have _got_ to be the most annoying leech on this fucking planet. I cannot wait to fucking skin you."

Kat wanted to reply with something witty, but her head was still spinning. Lana's grip made her scalp feel like it was about to split, and the world around her was awash with sounds. Her pulse beating in her ears, Lana's heavy breathing, Pamela whispering on the floor behind her…

Kat sucked in a breath, and spat into Lana's face.

The demon let out a guttural roar of fury, and threw Kat across the room once more. Kat collided with the doorframe, and felt the sharp bruise the corner was going to leave. She could only hope the distraction hadn't broken her ribs.

"Kill them," Lana repeated to her final crony. "And don't forget the knife. But the bitch is mine."

She grabbed Kat by the hair again. Kat did her best to fight back. She kicked the chair across the room, hitting the demon in the leg. She tried to kick everything off the top of the desk, buy as much time as she could, but it was tough. Everything was tough when you were getting towed across the floor like a ragdoll. She grunted and huffed as Lana pulled her through the hallway, screamed for help. But either the demons had already killed everyone else in the motel, or no one was looking to get involved.

"You are so grating," Lana complained. "I gotta say, it's a tough call. I'd love to make you someone else's problem, but I'm way too excited to be the one who eviscerates you. You have no idea how excited Alastair is gonna be to get his hands on you. But maybe, if I'm just good enough, he'll let me carve out your tongue and slide it from your throat. Wouldn't that be a sight to…?"

Lana stopped walking. Her grip was still tight on Kat's hair, but her whole body seemed to be shaking. Kat twisted on the ground, struggling to look up. Lana was practically foaming at the mouth—black smoke seeping out instead of spit.

She dropped Kat, who immediately scrambled away from her. She watched as Lana clutched at her throat, more smoke pouring out by the second. The black flickered in her eyes. She fell to her knees, then forward on her chest. The black smoke swirled around her, then disappeared into the carpet in a pile of embers.

Down the hall, Sam let his hand fall down to his side.

"Kat?" he demanded, running toward her with urgency. "Kat, are you okay? Did she…?"

He reached out to her, but Kat shirked away from his touch. It hurt more than it should have. But he backed off, letting her crawl up the wall by herself. He'd been so focused that he hadn't stopped to think. Kat had never seen him use his powers before. She was probably terrified.

"Kat, I—I'm sorry. I didn't know what to…"

"I'm fine," she said shortly. "It's fine. My head hurts like a bitch, but…Pamela?"

"She's good," he assured her. "I woke up before the demon could get to her."

"Right. And then you…? You did your…?"

She couldn't even bring herself to say it. Sam frowned.

"I exorcised him," he said with a nod.

"With your…?"

"Yeah, with my powers."

He watched her nervously. Kat's hair was sticking up in different directions where the demon had been holding her. She was squinting her right eye shut, and she winced every time she moved. She was probably hiding more bruises than he could imagine. She'd taken out two of the demons on her own, and it'd been four against two. He wanted to suggest a hospital, or at the very least an ice pack. But he had a bad feeling that anything he suggested right now would get shot down faster than lightning.

"Hello?" Pamela's irritated voice called down the hallway. "Can somebody get me a drink, please?"

Kat brushed past him, marching lopsided back to the motel room.

The room was a wreck. The ceiling was cracked twelve ways to Sunday, and a thin film of white powder covered the floor. The beds had been knocked askew, and everything blown off their nightstand. The window was broken, the door crooked, and there were two dead bodies for them to deal with later. Not to mention the unconscious one Sam had dropped.

In the middle of it all sat Pamela, slumped back against the nightstand, her leg twisted at a bad angle in front of her. Kat was already kneeling beside her.

"Are you okay? What happened? Did he…?"

"Oh quit your nagging," Pamela groaned. "It's a broken leg, not stab wound. I'll survive to get worse, I'm sure. Sam, get the whiskey."

"Pamela," he sighed, shaking his head. "You need a hospital. You both do."

"Whiskey," Pamela repeated tersely.

He wasn't surprised when Kat turned to glare at him. "You heard her, asshole. Get the drink."

Resigned, he followed their orders. Kat whispered soothingly as she tried to assess the damage to Pamela's leg, and Pamela laughed in pain every time she moved too much. She practically drained the flask the moment Sam handed it over.

"That's the stuff," she said with a hearty grimace. "Better than any anesthesia. More fun too."

"Well, enjoy it while it lasts," Kat scolded. "As soon as you get Dean back, we're taking you to a doctor."

"Great. A blind cripple. Sure that'll go over well with my clients."

"Where _is_ Dean?" Sam asked. A look at the second bed confirmed his brother's body was still motionless. "I mean, shouldn't he have come back with me?"

"Yeah," Pamela winced. "And he would've if you two bozos stuck together like I asked. What happened on your end?"

"Oh my God, the seal," Kat gasped, her head rocketing up. "Did you guys…?"

"It's fine," said Sam. "We got to Alastair in time."

Kat sagged back in relief. Sam could almost see her smile, but it was gone as soon as it had come. She turned back to Pamela, passing over another drink and some aspirin. Then she fixed Sam with another hard stare.

"So. What happened?"

"Wha—We stopped it." Sam looked around, gesturing toward Dean's body. "Can't this wait? I mean shouldn't we…?"

"He's busy," Pamela interrupted.

"What is that supposed to mean? Is he fighting? Is he safe?"

"You're brother's fine, Grumpy. But he's got some friendly company, and it seems like you boys left a hell of a mess to clean up. So start talking. What happened?"

Sam sighed yet again. He didn't want to get into it just yet. Not until Dean was safe in his body. None of it felt real. But Pamela and Kat were both battered and bruised, clearly chomping at the bit after being cooped up all day. So he held his tongue, and sat down on the mattress next to his brother.

"We found Cole Griffith," he started, trying to bury his guilt. "He was the last person to die in town, but the demons kidnapped the reaper before it could take him to the other side. He's been in his old house, watching over his mom, hiding from the black smoke. I guess the demons were tailing him, waiting. We got him to tell us where they were working, teach us a few ghost tricks. But then the demons came again."

"For Cole?" asked Pamela.

"No, for Tessa. She's another reaper, one that Dean tangoed with a couple years back."

This made Kat wrinkle her nose. "God, is there anything your brother won't sleep with?"

Pamela swatted her on the arm. "Don't be jealous, sweetie. Reapers ain't the type to get attached."

"No kidding," Sam said dryly. "But I guess she must have a soft spot for Dean. We got her to hold off on taking Cole, but then she got taken too. Apparently you need to kill two reapers to break the seal. So Alastair was just waiting for someone else to show up and finish the job."

"Great," Kat sighed. "Woulda been nice if Bobby had mentioned that."

"I don't know how much it would've helped," Sam admitted. "The demons were all holed up in the funeral home, covered in protective sigils. Alastair had a scythe to kill the reapers, his spell all set up. By the time Dean and I got there, they already knew we were coming and what to expect. They had iron chains and rock salt just waiting for us."

"Well they're evil, but they're not stupid," said Pamela. "Demons can see through the veil like a dang window. They probably saw you boys coming a mile off."

"Right," he said sourly. "Well. Woulda been nice if _someone_ had mentioned _that."_

Pamela snorted. "They're still departed souls, Sammy. Doesn't exactly take a genius to make that jump of logic."

"Hold on," said Kat, shaking her head again. "If you were trapped, how'd you stop Alastair?"

"Ghost mojo," he explained. "Crashed a chandelier on his reaper sigil, set Tessa free, then she returned the favor."

"Wow." Pamela pouted, looking honestly impressed. "Look at you, Casper."

Sam grinned. "Not bad for a walking piece of fog, huh?"

"Not bad at all."

Kat made a gagging noise at Pamela's obvious flirting. It earned her another whack from Pamela, but brought Sam back to attention.

"What about you?" he asked. "What happened here?"

"Pretty self-explanatory," Kat said curtly. "Demons came, demons fought, demons lost. We can all move on."

"But how did they even find you? We had the hex bags and everything."

"Sam, we're not the hardest people to find. They knew we were in town. Alastair probably sent Lana to check out every seedy motel in a twenty-mile radius until she found us. We're kind of creatures of habit."

"Lana?" Sam repeated. "Like Lana and Meg?"

Kat's jaw clenched, and he wished he'd saved the question for later.

"Yeah," she answered. "Except she doesn't run with Meg anymore. I guess she's pretty tight with Alastair. He sent her to kill you guys and collect me. That was her that you…"

She trailed off, glancing down at Pamela. Sam was grateful, but it made his stomach churn with anxiety. Pamela was sharper than people gave her credit for. He'd used his powers twice—once to save Kat, and once to save Pamela. She might not have seen him do it, but there was no telling what she could sense. And he was already in enough trouble with Kat.

But if Pamela had noticed anything odd about his actions or the conversation, she kept it to herself.

"Was Lana the ringleader?" Pamela asked, turning to Kat. "I figured you two must have history. She certainly had an axe to grind with you."

"Yeah," Kat chuckled. "She and her girlfriend came pretty close to catching me a while ago. Possessed a few of my friends as leverage. I exorcized them, but I guess I didn't send them far enough."

"Had to be quite an exorcism if she's that anxious for your head on a platter."

"It was," Sam eagerly chimed in. "It was inventive and bloody, and Kat had it all wrapped up before Dean and I could get there."

Kat saw through the hopeful flattery in an instant, and rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, it's a stellar story. And I'll tell you all about it over drink when we get the hell out of here. But first you're gonna need to bring back Winchester Dos. Think you can manage that?"

"Guess I'll have to," Pamela said with another grimace. "One of you help me closer to his bed? And the other can get me another shot."

Sam helped moved Pamela across the floor, while Kat refilled her flask. Pamela chugged some more whiskey, which was probably inadvisable with the pain killers, then completed her incantation before she lost focus. The Latin sent a shiver down Sam's spine, like his spirit could sense the magic that had just so recently brought him back. But it wasn't him this time. And a moment later, Dean sprang up on the bed.

"What the—ow!" He groaned, clutching his head and immediately falling back to the mattress.

"Dean?" Sam rushed forward, grabbing him by the shoulder. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Dude, relax," Dean groaned. "Spirit travel is fucking rough with a concussion. I'm good, dude."

"Welcome back to the land of the living."

Kat grinned, and passed him his own drink. Dean threw it back appreciatively, his free hand roaming his torso.

"You didn't actually stab me, did you?"

"I resisted the urge," Kat said stiffly. "Though I suppose you'll want this back."

She passed over Ruby's knife, the blade still coated in dark, slick blood. Dean wrinkled his nose at it, and finally looked around the room. Sam watched his eyes flick from the debris to the bodies and back up to the ceiling, covered in broken devil's traps.

"The hell happened here?" he asked.

"Self-explanatory," Sam quoted, looking back over at Kat. "Demons came, demons fought, demons lost. Kat handled it."

"Well, I don't know about that," she said, not meeting his eye. "You certainly held your own, Sam."

His blood ran cold as Dean's gaze pierced him. Sam refused to meet his eye. He knew it was pointless lying to Kat and Dean. He knew they'd find out one way or another, that they already knew he was using his powers again, that it was only a matter of time until they found out the cost. But he couldn't bring himself to have that conversation. So if a couple weak excuses could put it off, he was glad to keep doing it.

"So uh—what took you so long?" he asked, turning to Dean with desperate, pleading eyes. "Pamela said you had company."

Dean considered him for a moment, but let him off the hook. For now, anyway.

"Take your pick," he said grumpily. "You talkin' about Alastair catching up, Cas showing his hand, or Tessa and I going…?"

"Castiel?" Kat interrupted him, her eyes wide. "Cas was here?"

"Yeah," said Dean, though he didn't look pleased. "The angels were here alright. Just letting us do all the heavy lifting so they could capture Alastair."

"They _captured_ Alastair?" Sam asked in awe. "How?"

"I don't know, man. Some angel-lightning cage or whatever. Point is, we risk our hides saving the seal so they can swoop in like vultures and claim the touchdown. They planned this whole thing start to finish. And lied about it, of course, but that ain't new."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it wasn't Bobby you were on the phone with. Either time. Guess Cas is one hell of a voice actor."

"What? No, I—I called…" Sam floundered. "Why? Why lie?"

"Because, and I quote, 'Everything he asks, we seem to do the opposite.'"

"Yeah, well he's not wrong there," sighed Kat.

"What does that matter?" Dean snapped. "Just because he's right don't mean he's right!"

"Hey, I'm pissed too," she bit back. "I'm just saying we haven't been the most agreeable."

"Oh well that's rich, coming from the chick who dukes it out with him in the first place. You two had your tiff, he goes AWOL. You're probably the reason he's lying in the first place."

"Oh, I'm _so sorry_ for arguing with the angels! Next time I won't fucking defend you!"

"Right, defending us. That's what this is about."

"Do you want me to stab you? Cause there's still time to change my mind."

"Children!" Pamela shouted from the floor, waving her arms between them. "Both of you knock it off! Whiskey, food, and medical attention! Preferably in that order."

Dean and Kat's bickering stopped instantly. With a commiserating look, they both moved to help Pamela up from the ground.

"Yeah, fat chance of that, Pam," Dean grunted, hauling her to her feet.

"Hospital first," Kat agreed. "And we'll do Chinese food later."

"Oh screw Chinese food," Pamela groaned as the three made their way for the door. "You're buying me a prime rib, garlic mashed potatoes, and the most expensive wine on the menu."

"I think we can manage that."

"With real money, Dean. Otherwise the apology doesn't count."

"Cut a guy some slack, Pamela…"

The bickering faded as the three of them worked their way down the hall, leaving Sam behind in the mess they had made. None of them had even spared him a glance.

Sam's jaw clenched. He'd screwed up a lot in his life. Dean and Kat had done their best to ignore it. They'd given him the benefit of the doubt, given him time to explain himself, even when they knew the truth. But he hadn't told them. And now they'd found out the hard way. But he'd saved Kat, hadn't he? Saved Pamela? That had to count for something.

He looked around the room at the limp bodies and crumpled ceiling. It was a hell of a mess to clean up. He just wasn't sure where to start this time.


	54. Chapter 54

If there was one thing that Pamela hated more than angels, it was hospitals. She bitched at everyone in her vicinity, and told more than one doctor to get stuffed. Kat took charge of calming her down, running interference with the staff and getting her a female doctor. Dean wasn't sure what the big deal was, but he knew better than to ask. He let Kat shove him out of the room without making a fuss.

It was partly because he didn't want to deal with the drama. But mostly, he wanted to find Sam. They'd left him behind in Greybull to do cleanup. AKA, disposing the bodies, paying for the damage, and getting any cops off their trail. Dean had ridden with Kat in the Prius—a nightmare in and of itself—but Sam had sure taken his sweet time catching up to them. When he did check in, he could hardly look anyone in the eye.

Dean had already known something was up. He just didn't want to wait and find out what it was the hard way.

He found Sam milling around the lobby, amidst overpriced gift shops and vending machine food. He did not look especially happy to see Dean. But Dean took it in stride. There'd been a lot of that going around, lately.

"You're not actually eating any of this shit, are you?" he asked Sam, earning a reproachful look from the cashier. "I mean, I know we eat a lot of crap, man, but you gotta draw the line somewhere."

"Dude, have you seen you?"

"Yeah, but I'm me. You're..."

Dean trailed off, gesturing vaguely at Sam's body. Sam snorted.

"I think I'll survive an overpriced bag of Cheetos. Thanks."

"Alright, your funeral. But that cheetah will get you."

Sam paid for his food and led the way back into the waiting room. They found a couple of chairs in the corner, where Dean would stare expectantly at Sam and Sam could avoid his gaze. He managed a few minutes before he cleared his throat.

"How's Pamela?"

"Honestly, I don't know," Dean said with a shrug. "She's putting up one hell of a fight. And Kat's keeping up her guard dog act. It'll be a miracle if a doctor gets close long enough to set her leg."

"Sounds about right."

"What about you? What happened back there?"

"Oh. Uh…you know, standard clean up." He stalled, choosing his next Cheeto like it might be the president. "Cleaned up what I could, checked out, dumped the bodies on the way."

"Yeah, sure." Dean nodded in understanding. "What about the other two?"

"Hm? What other two?"

"The two that were knocked out. You know, the ones you exorcised."

"Dean…"

"Hey, I'm just making conversation," Dean said wryly. "I mean, you talk so much about saving the host, the least we could do is buy 'em a bus ticket, ya know?"

Sam glared at him.

"I was only able to save one of them. The guy in the room…he was already dead. I brought the girl inside, left her in the room. She should wake up okay."

"Wow," Dean chuckled. "So she gets possessed by a demon and then gets to pay for our trashed motel room. That is some get better gift."

"Look," Sam said carefully. "I know you're mad…"

"You're damn right, I am, Sam! I mean, how many times are we gonna go through this? These powers, they're no good for anyone!"

"I saved Katherine!"

A couple people turned to look in their direction. Sam looked like he was clenching about every muscle in his body trying to control his voice.

"What would you have done, Dean? I woke up, Kat was getting dragged down the hall, there was a demon standing over Pamela. He had the knife, and he was about to kill her. The only reason she's not dead is because I stopped him. And if I hadn't gone after Kat…"

"Then who knows where she'd be now," Dean finished gravely.

All he could do was run his hands down his face. He was tired of fighting. He was tired of going through the same arguments over and over again. Yeah, he was still pissed, and he still thought Sam was out of his mind. But maybe Kat was right. Maybe the best they could hope for was an open playing field.

"Look, man," he sighed. "God's honest truth, I'm glad you used your…your mojo or whatever."

"Right," Sam scoffed.

"No, I'm serious. You're right. If you hadn't, Kat could be in the wind. Pamela could be…man, who knows? I mean, as much as I hate it—and you _know_ I fucking hate it—I get why you do it. I don't like it, but I get it. And I can't stop you. But…we gotta be in this together, you know? You can't keep lying to me."

"No, I—I know." Sam stared down into the bag. "I guess I…I just didn't want to fight about it anymore. So I figured we could just ignore it."

"And what? Fight about everything else?"

Sam chuckled at that. It gave Dean some peace of mind, at least. It felt like weeks since either of them had laughed at something that wasn't the other person's expense.

"Tell you what," Dean said, clapping Sam on the knee. "Why don't we wrap this up, drop Pamela at home, and head back to Bobby's for a while? Get some rest, get some grub. And then we can all talk it over?"

He'd thought it was a generous suggestion. But Sam stilled.

"Seriously, Dean?"

"What?" Dean furrowed his eyebrows. "Yeah, I think we should talk about it. Family meeting. Or team meeting, or whatever."

"Oh, like an _intervention_?"

"I didn't say that, but…"

"Dean, this has got to stop." Sam ripped himself from his chair. He rounded on Dean, glaring reproachfully. "You can't keep going back and forth! One minute you tell me I can make my own choices, and the next your trying to control my whole life!"

"Hey, you've made it very clear I don't control anything okay?" Dean snapped. "But no matter how much good this thing can do for us, it's poisonous! I don't know what you want from me!"

"How about some trust?"

"And how am I supposed to do that when you've been lying to my face for the past few weeks?"

Sam didn't have an answer for that. He crushed the half-eaten Cheetos in his hand, and threw the whole thing into the garbage. Without a word, he stormed off toward the parking lot. Dean just let him go. Whatever was supposed to fix the situation, it wasn't coming around just yet.

He'd screwed the pooch with Sam, so the only thing left for Dean to do was wait for his chance to talk to Kat. He wanted her side of the story, to find out what had happened while he and Sam were ghost walking.

But Kat wasn't making it easy. Pamela's leg turned out to be bad enough to warrant an overnight, and Kat had harassed the doctors into letting her stay after hours. Dean had stayed up, hoping to catch her when she joined them at the new motel, but that hadn't worked either. Kat must've slept like the dead, because she didn't respond to his knocking. That, or she was ignoring him, which was equally likely. After her irate neighbor stuck their head out the door to glare at him, Dean gave up and went back to his own room. Sam had been conspicuously missing. Dean didn't bother waiting up.

When they were cleared to get back on the road, they split boys and girls. Dean kept a steady eye on the Prius in his rearview mirror. He told Sam he wanted to make sure they didn't lose it, since Kat drove like a fucking grandma, but he was more interested in watching the passengers. Pamela and Kat were doing an awful lot of singing, Pamela's arms waving, Kat's hands drumming the steering wheel. Dean strained his ears at a few traffic lights, but all he could make out was deep bass. He doubted it was Alanis Morissette, anyway.

He nearly blew a red light watching them. After that, he kept his eyes strictly on the road.

Even when they got Pamela back to Iowa, there was no way to get Kat alone. Pamela ushered them all into the house with a reminder that they owed her dinner.

"Among other things," she'd added with a wink at Kat.

She gave Sam the name of the steakhouse where she wanted reservations, and warned Dean that he could touch the beer in the fridge and nothing else. Then she'd dragged Kat into the bedroom with the excuse that she needed help getting ready. Dean had made a crass joke about what they were _really_ doing, which only made Sam storm off again.

But if Pamela and Kat were screwing, they were doing it quietly. Dean knew, because he was listening. When they emerged over an hour later, they looked exactly the same. All they'd done was change their shirts. But pointing that out had just gotten him smacked with one of Pamela's crutches.

As Sam assisted Pamela to the car, Dean had shot Kat a pointed look. She'd just brushed past him. It was becoming infuriating. She had to _know_ he wanted to talk to her. Why else would she be ditching him over and over? Was it because she was pissed at Sam? Did she have something to hide?

Dean longed for the early days. At least then he'd known what the fuck was going on.

He didn't have time to worry about it during dinner. The food was too good, and the drinks kept coming. Pamela told a stories about some of her bat shit clients, and they traded her tales from the road. Kat talked about the Roadhouse in equal parts complaints and smiles, and Pamela had demanded their server take a picture of the four of them.

It was a nice change from diner food and take out. Until, of course, they'd dropped the check. Dean had choked on his whiskey. He was ready to barf his steak back onto the table if he didn't have to pay _that_ tab. But Kat had snorted and slid the folder from his hands. She'd cover the bill, and he could cover tip. At least she had a real job.

He'd been so relieved, he completely forgot he was pissed at her.

"Are you sure you're gonna be okay alone?" Sam asked, after they'd gotten Pamela back to her house. They were standing around her front porch, dawdling while Kat tried to find the right key to the door.

"I'm a big girl, Sammy," Pamela assured him, and she nudged his ankle with her crutch. "I'd invite one of you to spend the night, but I doubt I'll be getting into much trouble with this damn cast."

"I wouldn't put it past you," Dean said with a charming smile.

It made Pamela smirk. "Watch it, handsome, or I just might try."

"Gross." Kat gagged just as the door swung open. She dropped the keys on the inside table and turned back to Pamela. "There you go. House. Does this mean I can go?"

"Why the rush? I'm sure Dean wouldn't mind the company, sweetheart."

"Oh no," said Dean. "I think he would."

Kat rolled her eyes. "Who said I'd share?"

She kissed Pamela on the cheek, and tolerated the swat to her ass.

"Keep your nose clean, honey," said Pamela. "And remember what we talked about."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Salt over the left shoulder, pepper over the right. I'm not an idiot."

Dean quirked an eyebrow, but Pamela just chuckled. She kissed Kat's other cheek before ushering her off the porch, beckoning Sam instead.

"Come here, Grumpy. I got some words of wisdom for you too."

Sam grimaced as he stepped into her embrace. Spotting his window, Dean followed Kat down the steps.

"Hey, Kat, wait up. I, uh…I was just wondering…"

"Don't sweat it," she said, without looking at him. "I'll pick up a six pack on my way to the motel."

"What? No, that's not…"

"No, really. It's no problem. Catch you later."

She'd already climbed into the car and shut the door behind her. Dean stared after her, alone on the front path. Kat pealed down the street in her stupid tin can car, disappearing around the corner. He couldn't decide if he wanted to be pissed or impressed. She was almost as good at avoiding shit as he was.

"Hey, Chachi!" Pamela was yelling at him from the door again. "You trying to sneak off without a goodbye?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, Pamela."

Reluctantly, he headed back to the house. Sam brushed past him on the path, heading in the opposite direction. Dean tossed him the car keys, which he caught without looking. Just like Kat, he avoided Dean's eyes. He looked almost as shaken as he had back at the hospital. He hurried into the Impala, jumping in the driver's seat and opting to wait inside.

"Jeez," Dean sighed, ambling up to the porch. "What'd you say to the poor guy?"

"Ah, nothing you haven't said before, I'm sure."

He raised his eyebrows again, to no response. "That's it? Anything else?"

"Nope," she said with a wide smile. Pamela tugged him forward by his arm, planting a kiss on his cheek and then tapping it none too gently. "Just be careful around him. And go easy. I know it's a rocky path he's on, but if you get so mad that you push him away, you might just push him over the edge."

"Wow. How poetic of you."

Pamela smacked him a little harder this time.

"Same goes for Kat. The three of you are slamming into each other like rats cooped up in a cage. But she's got enough to worry about. Between that angel curse and those demons…"

She shuddered visibly.

"Figured I'd save you the trouble of going over it," said Dean, casually as he could. "It was that bad?"

"I'll say this. They're not little leaguers. The one who was taunting her—Lana, I guess—her aura was something awful. Dark, rancid. She's one twisted cookie. I'm lucky I got off with a broken leg. And if she's got beef with Kat…"

"Don't worry. I'll keep an eye on her."

"Ha! Yeah, I'm sure you will."

Dean wrinkled his nose. He didn't love her suggestive tone. Pamela was smirking at him something awful, making him fidget.

"Right," he said, clearing his throat. "Well, whatever _that_ means. Take care of yourself, Pamela."

"Right back at you, hot stuff."

He rubbed her shoulder, almost ready for it when her crutch came up to poke him in the ass. Still, he half-tripped down the steps. He scrambled to recover, smiling awkwardly and rubbing his butt in pain. He almost made it to the Impala before she called him back.

"Hey, Dean! One more thing."

"Yeah?"

"You know I love you boys like family…well, maybe a little more," she added with a chuckle. "So I mean this with all the love in my heart. You lose my number until this angel crap is over. I got lucky this time, but…I don't want there to be a next time. Clear?"

Dean nodded, trying to stomach his guilt. "Crystal."

"Good. Now get that pretty ass in that pretty car, and give a good kiss to my girl, alright?"

"Oh, gross."

He gagged, and climbed into the Impala. Sam revved the engine for her to hear, and Dean leaned over to blast the horn. Then they pulled out onto the road.

It was mostly quiet as they drove. Sam was deep in his head about whatever Pamela had said to him. Dean didn't need to guess. He wasn't sure if Pamela had heard it, felt it, or if it was her psychic, ESP thing. She knew exactly what kind of "rocky path" he was on, and she didn't like it. He was itching to ask Sam how many objections he needed to flip his case. Dean, Kat, Bobby, Cas, Pamela—the evidence was piled high, and Sam's head was still up his ass. But if only because Pamela had asked him, Dean kept his mouth shut. He wouldn't start a fight if he could help it.

Thankfully, Sam did it for him.

His phone went off, like it had been non-stop for the past few weeks. Sam rushed to check it. Dean swallowed his dry comment about texting and driving. He maintained a careful expression of disinterest.

"Anything good?" he asked, as Sam read the message. "Case?"

"Uh…yeah, maybe."

"Cool. Where to?"

Sam tucked his phone away, looking stony. There were several seconds of silence. Dean hoped that whatever lie Sammy was cooking up this time, it was at least well done.

"Okay," Sam sighed instead. "You want honest, right?"

"Yeah," Dean said, looking at him in surprise. "Yeah, I'd appreciate it."

"Fine. It's Ruby."

Dean's pursed his lips and looked back out the window.

"Dean, you said you wanted honesty."

"Yeah, well I didn't say I'd pretend to like it. What's ol' black-eyes got to say about her friends?"

"Lana's not her friend," Sam said tersely. "Sounds like the opposite, actually. Ruby says she's a real fanatic. Kinda deranged, even for a demon."

"Right. So like she blenders her babies instead of flaying them."

"Dude, I know you're joking, but…that's exactly what I mean. She's got a rep for being nasty, not playing well with others. Probably why she and Meg got on so well."

"Great," Dean groaned. "Just what we need. A pair of unhinged, demonic gal pals."

"Kat said they broke up, if it makes you feel any better."

"Yeah, you know? It…doesn't." Dean scraped his teeth over his tongue, trying to get rid of the bad taste the thought left behind. "Demons having personal lives. Gives me the creeps. Like I said. Strange lives."

"After everything else we deal with?" Sam asked with a chuckle. "I don't know. Not that strange."

"Yeah. Well, you would say that."

He didn't miss the bitch face Sam sent at him, but he did ignore it.

"Anyway," Sam said stiffly. "Ruby said she'll meet us a few towns over. She's gonna dig up some more on Lana, and track down some other leads."

Dean grunted in response. He didn't trust himself to say much more. But apparently mute civility wasn't going to cut it with Sammy's pissy mood.

"Look, I know she's not exactly on your Christmas list, but if she can help us protect Kat, get to Lilith…"

"Hey, man, work with Ruby, don't. I don't really give a rat's ass."

"What's your problem?"

"Pamela. She didn't want anything to do with this, and we dragged her back into it, Sam."

"Dean, she's fine," Sam scoffed. "She didn't have to help us, but she did. She knew what was at stake."

"Oh yeah, saving the world," Dean huffed. "And we're doing such a good job of it."

"Dean…"

"No, Sam. You know how scared Pamela was? She just told me not to call her until the angels go back to kingdom come."

"What?" Sam gaped at him, the steering wheel forgotten. "But what if we need…?

"Then we don't! She's off limits, Sam. Pamela's done getting thrown around and beat down because of our shit. And you know what? Good for her!"

"Dean, you don't mean…"

"Yeah, I do. I mean it. First her eyes, now her legs. What'd you wanna take next time, Sammy? Call her cause we need—I don't know, uh—psychic blood to save a seal? Ask her to chop off a limb and lend us a hand? Where's the fucking line, dude?"

"I know it sucks," said Sam, visibly grinding his teeth. "But we never thought this was gonna be easy. If we catch a fresh trail…"

"Then we follow it, no hesitation, I know. I'm just…I'm tired of scaring people away."

Sam didn't have anything to say to that. Dean was thankful. He was tired of fighting too.

They pulled up to the motel not long after that. They both shot out of the car, like it was the Impala that was really causing the problems. Dean dragged his feet as he followed Sam to the room. It was just the way they'd left it—do not disturb sign, bags under the beds, sheets unmade. The only difference was the small table by the window, where a fresh six-pack was waiting for them.

Sam turned to him, confused. Dean had to swallow a smile.

"Shower?" he asked instead, throwing his coat on the bed.

"Yeah. Go ahead."

"Nah, I'll give you dibs tonight."

Sam's confusion deepened to suspicion. "Seriously? Dude, you always go first. And I mean, like… _always_."

"What can I say? I wanna get a head start."

He held up one of the beers with a grin, and Sam rolled his eyes. But he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He grabbed his sweats and a toothbrush, then retreated into the bathroom.

Dean waited until he heard the water. Then he grabbed a second beer and headed back into the hall.

Kat's room wasn't far away. She always tried to stay close, but at least two rooms away. The last thing she wanted was to suffer thin walls if Sam or Dean brought back guests. Dean had thought she was being overly sensitive…right up until he'd picked up a cute bartender last week and sexiled Sam. They hadn't been happy, but at least he didn't have to deal with complaints of their virgin ears.

He looked up and down the hall, checking for stragglers before pressing his ear to the door. She was definitely awake. He could hear her walking around, at least. There was a good chance she'd ignore him anyway, but he'd be damned if he didn't try.

Dean cleared his throat, leaning on the wall next to the door.

"Hey, Kat," he called. "I know you're in there, so…I'm about to knock. And if you don't answer, I'm gonna assume you're in trouble and uh…I'm just gonna pick the lock. Fair warning."

The movement inside stopped. He waited a few seconds, then raised his knuckles to rap on the door. He was rewarded with a three-inch gap, and Kat's disgruntled face. Even with her hair up in the stupid, lopsided bun, she looked about thirty seconds away from murder.

"Before you say no," he offered, holding up the beers, "I figured you ought to indulge."

Kat didn't look impressed.

"How generous of you, seeing as I bought them."

"Well, yeah. I know it's kind of a weak bribe. I mean, it's not an inedible bagel, but…"

"Shut the fuck up, Dean."

She grabbed the beers from him, but stepped aside to let him into the room.

Dean darted in before she could change her mind. His eyes cased the place out of habit—bags on the floor, unmade bed, just like their room. It was neater than he remembered. The last time he'd seen one of Kat's motel rooms, papers and clothes had been spread across the room like a damn explosion. He wasn't sure if that was because she'd been working a case at the time, or if she was just getting better.

He figured he'd ask. It was a safe place to start anyway. But when he turned around, the question died in his throat.

Kat had beaten them back to the motel. He'd known that. Clearly she'd already gotten ready for bed. She wore a beat up pair of sweats that sat low on her hips, and a T-shirt with her gym logo on it. She'd shrugged on a flannel too, a beat-up grey one with sleeves that were too long. She hadn't bothered cuffing them. She just shook them back every few seconds as she attempted to open the beers.

"You changed."

It wasn't what he'd meant to say. Kat gave him yet another unimpressed look.

"Yeah, no shit. I didn't want to sleep in jeans."

"No, I just meant…where'd the flannel come from?"

"Um…I don't know." She looked down at it in disinterest, passing him his drink. "Thrift store, I guess? Either that, or I stole it from Bobby's."

"Huh. Yeah."

He took the beer, still eyeing the shirt. Kat walked past him, and without thinking, he reached for her sleeve. She'd slapped his hand out of the air before he could even brush her.

"Hey!"

"Sorry!" He held his hands up instantly, nearly spilling the beer. "I wasn't…I was just trying to see…may I?"

He gestured at the sleeve of the shirt again. He didn't want to move too quickly. Kat had recoiled faster than he'd ever seen. It wasn't like he hadn't grabbed her arm before. But her cagey eyes made him reluctant to try again.

Kat looked at him suspiciously, then held out her arm.

Dean was careful not to touch too much. He barely ghosted his fingers along the fabric, looking intently at the lines in the plaid. He traced around the elbow, doubting himself, but…

"Aha!" He grinned, tapping the discoloration in the fabric. "There she is! Ectoplasm stain. Got it from a souped-up ghost down in New Orleans. Man, that was a nasty job. I'll say this, they don't call it the most haunted city in America for nothing."

"Oh." Kat retracted her arm, looking down at the sleeve with a frown. "That's…gross."

He laughed, but the sound petered out pretty quickly. She was still staring down at the shirt, not looking at him.

"Uh…sorry," he said awkwardly. "I didn't mean to…"

"No, I'm sorry," she said. "Do you want it…?"

"No, no. It's fine. I mean…I left it at…it's…probably got your cooties all over it anyway."

Dean took a harsh swig from his beer. When did he become such a fucking loser? He wished they were in a room on a higher floor. Then maybe he might've been able to do some real damage by flinging himself out a fucking window. At this height, he might twist an ankle, break a leg if he was lucky. That wouldn't be enough to save him from Kat's disbelieving smile.

"Right," she laughed. "If by 'cooties' you mean 'real laundry detergent,' then yeah. It's covered."

"Hey, I use laundry detergent."

"Yeah, powdered soap you can steal from the laundromat. I'm talking about _actual_ detergent."

"Oh, well, sorry. I didn't realize we were in a Tide ad."

He screwed his face up in an attempt to mock her, but she seemed to sense that she still had the high ground. She was still laughing at him, anyway. Dean took another surly sip from his beer.

He really owed Kat for letting him off the hook.

"So," she said, plopping onto the bed. She tucked her legs up underneath her. "You come over here to get dragged about laundry?"

"I came over here to check on you," he said pointedly.

"Well, I'm breathing, so. I'm good."

"Uh huh."

He took a sip from his beer, watching her steadily. Her chipper smile faded into one of annoyance.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Dean. Did the demons catch up to me? Yes. Was I scared? Yes. But they didn't get me, and we'll all be more careful next time."

"And that's it?"

"Yeah. That's it."

"So what about Sam?"

Kat dropped her eyes to the beer bottle. Dean wasn't about to push her. He just grabbed the chair from the table and dragged it closer to the bed. He sat down, focusing on his own drink, and letting Kat pick the label on hers. They both waited.

"The demons got there about twenty minutes before you," Kat said softly. She still wasn't looking at him. "They broke the devil's traps, broke inside. Pamela and I killed the first one, but then Lana showed up. She had us pinned to the wall before we knew what happened."

"Didn't think she had that kinda juice," said Dean.

"I don't think she did," Kat admitted. "Not at the Roadhouse anyway. She was talking about how she'd gone back to Alastair to learn a few things, power up or whatever. After she split with Meg anyway."

"Huh. Well, good riddance."

It coaxed a small smile out of her at the very least.

"Anyway, I let her do her monologuing, and then when she tried to take me I took out the second guy. I knew Pamela was trying to bring you guys back, so I was trying to cause as much chaos as I could. Lana dragged me out into the hallway, and she had this...like this seizure. She was coughing up smoke, or...I guess the host was coughing up her...and when she collapsed, I just saw Sam at the end of the hallway."

Kat took a shaky sip of the beer. Dean tried ignore the way her fingers were trembling.

"I thought I got it," she whispered a few moments later. "I mean, the way he talks about it. Sure, I knew it wasn't good, but I knew why he was doing it. But seeing it for real...nothing about that was normal."

"Yeah, well. Since when is anything we do normal?"

He tried his best to laugh it off. But when Kat looked up at him, it was with wide, haunted eyes. She almost looked tiny in his oversized flannel.

"Dean, _no one_ should be able to do stuff like that. I mean, the look in his eyes…I was more scared of him than I was of Lana."

"Hey, it's—it's still Sam," he assured her, despite how much he agreed. "He'd never hurt you."

"Maybe not on purpose. But…I don't know. Watching him use his powers…it's a miracle he hasn't slipped up already. He has to know he's playing with fire. I just don't get how he can keep justifying this shit."

"Because he saved you," Dean said earnestly. "At the end of the day, you're alive. That's good enough for him. Hell, it's good enough for me."

"Dean," she sighed, but he cut her off.

"I know it's not _good._ Hell, I'm with you every bit on that. But you wanna know why he does it? That's why. He knows it's bad, and it's nasty, and it's probably gonna bite him in the ass. But he's willing to take that chance if it'll keep you safe. That's just Sam, you know?"

Kat was still frowning, but she nodded. "That's what Pam said."

"She gave me the same speech if it makes you feel any better."

"It doesn't, but thanks." She smiled, and pushed her hair out of her face. "You two are exhausting, you know? I mean, you've had me playing peacekeeper for like a week. And it _sucked._ You're fighting to the death one minute, defending each other the next."

"That's family for ya," he said with a hollow smile. "Sure you and Jess were a riot."

"Yeah," she chuckled. "But I never had to defend Jess from anybody. Everyone loved her. Most of the time, she was defending me."

Kat polished off the rest of her beer, and smiled sadly down at the bottle. Dean hesitated to push the subject. He knew families could be a touchy subject for Kat. Just like her sister, or high school, or her mentor. That he could relate to. He was the last one to bring his traumas to the table for show and tell. But some part of him wanted her to keep talking.

A knock on the door interrupted them. They both froze, reaching for weapons in unison. But when Dean got up to check the door, he relaxed.

"Speak of the devil," he said, stepping aside to let him in.

"We've got a problem," said Sam. His hair was still wet from the shower, and he was looking around wildly. "They were just standing there when I got out of the bathroom, and then I…"

"Who?" Kat demanded. "Demons?"

"No, the…"

"Angels," Dean finished, glaring right at the problem.

Uriel and Castiel had joined them without warning. They were both dressed in the same stupid suits, still clean and cheap and snazzy. Dean wondered idly if _they_ ever had to do laundry, or if they could just miracle themselves back to normal. After all, he'd stabbed Cas in the chest the first time he'd shown up. And he still looked dandy, if a little forlorn. He was hanging back in the shadows, while Uriel took the mainstage.

"Winchester and Winchester," he said with a smug smile. His eyes drifted to Kat on the motel bed. "And Miss Moore, of course. I don't believe we've had the pleasure."

"Oh, we did," she said stiffly. "But you were a little busy trying to kill Anna."

Her jab didn't faze him. He was still watching superiorly as she got to her feet, joining the Winchesters on the other side of the room. His smirk widened, and he glanced over his shoulder at Castiel.

"I see why you're so fond of her, brother. This one, she's…so willful, defiant."

Castiel did not respond. He only stared at the wall ahead of him.

"Alright, can we cut the crap?" Dean huffed. "It's a little late for your usual douchiness."

"How unfortunate," said Uriel flatly. "You are needed."

"Needed? We just got back from _needed_."

"Now, you mind your tone with me…"

"No! You mind your damn tone with us!"

Sam grabbed him by the shoulder before he could start swinging.

"We just got back from the hospital," he said. "Pamela's leg was broken in three places. She's lucky she didn't end up in a wheelchair!"

"Pamela," Dean repeated, glowering at Uriel's indifferent face. "You know, psychic Pamela? You remember her. Cas, you remember her! You remember that? Good times! Yeah, now she's a cripple cause she helped save one of your precious seals."

"Your friend will recover," said Uriel.

"She shouldn't have to! And I don't see you stepping up to the plate to help her out! So maybe you could stop pushing us around like chess pieces for five freaking minutes!"

"We raised you out of Hell for _our_ purposes," Uriel reminded him.

"Yeah, and what were those again?" Dean asked. "What exactly do you want from me?"

"Start with gratitude."

 _"_ _Gratitude?"_

Dean was surprised that it was Kat who stepped forward, her almighty death glare fixed fearlessly on the angel in front of her.

"Gratitude for what? Why should we thank you when all you do is treat us like some inconvenient garbage until you remember you need us? When you preach this hypocritical bullshit about protecting God's creations and then blow cities up without a second thought? Or how about the fact that you lie, and cheat, and break promises left and right, but still have the fucking _arrogance_ to think you're any better than humans?"

She'd grown closer to him with every word, stalking forward like a predatory ready to pounce. She still looked incredibly small in the flannel. But Dean knew better than to try and hold her back. He wasn't about to get in the way of her fury.

Uriel stared down his nose at her, all amusement gone.

"Remember your place, girl."

"Katherine…" Castiel had finally woken from his stupor, his voice pleading. "We know that this is difficult to understand…"

"And _we_ ," Uriel interrupted, "don't care."

Dean watched with fascination as Castiel shut down once more. He turned back to the wall, fixing his posture like a good little soldier standing at attention. Something was definitely up. Sure, he and Uriel had come off as paper-filing dicks more often than not, but Cas had been his own man. Dean had assumed Cas and Uriel were equals, at least. Now it seemed Uriel had him on a leash, muzzle and all.

When he was sure Castiel was on lockdown, Uriel continued.

"Now, seven angels have been murdered—all of them from our garrison. The last one was killed tonight."

"Demons?" Dean asked, unable to deny his interest.

Uriel merely cocked his head.

"How they doing it?" he asked.

"And will they teach us?" Kat added in a grumble.

"We don't know," Uriel growled, glowering at her.

"I'm sorry," said Sam, "but what do you want _us_ to do about it? I mean, a demon with the juice to ice angels has to be out of our league, right?"

"We can handle the demons, thank you very much," Uriel said coolly.

"Once we find whoever it is," Castiel conceded.

Dean looked between the two of them, taking in their discomfort.

"So you need our help…hunting a demon?" He shot a side glance at Kat. "Well, isn't that ironic?"

"Not quite," said Castiel. He stepped forward from the shadows, taking a place at Uriel's side. "We have Alastair."

"Great," said Dean. "He should be able to name your triggerman."

"But he won't talk. Alastair's will is very strong. We've arrived at an impasse."

"Well, yeah, the dude's like a black belt in torture. I mean, you guys are out of your league."

"That's why we've come to his student," said Uriel. "You happen to be the most qualified interrogator we've got."

Dean's blood ran cold. Colder than the Midwest ice outside, colder than it had been in Hell. Everything else in the room had come to a frozen halt. He could feel the walls he'd been patching in his head already beginning to break down, leaks of buried memories surging forward. The cold, the quiet, the screams…

"Get fucked," said Kat, the first to recover from the shock.

"Silence," Uriel spat. "Don't presume to speak about what you don't understand."

"Don't understand? What I _understand_ is that you two are asking…"

"Dean." Castiel cut off Kat's tirade, looking solely at Dean. "It is paramount that we discover who is killing the angels. But questioning Alastair also has...other benefits."

"Like what?" Sam demanded, sounding just as outraged as Kat.

"Like finding out what ends the demons intend to use Katherine."

Something inside Dean made him pause. The cold had stopped, something else surging forward in its place. It wasn't enough to eclipse it. He could still feel the shiver creeping up his spine, the block of frostbite weighing down his stomach. But it was enough to clear the ice from his mind. His eyes drifted back to Kat, and her jaw dropped in horror.

"Fuck no! Dean, you can't even—absolutely not!"

"Katherine," Castiel said again, closer to his usual exasperation.

"No, Cas! I don't need to know why the demons want me. Alright? All I need is the common sense not to get caught. And I didn't, by the way, not that it matters to you."

"Of course it…"

"I'd rather go back to your Wi-Fi-free security bubble than listen to this bullshit plan. So fuck this, and let's figure out something else."

Kat folded her arms over her chest, fiery determination spitting off at her in waves. She glared at each of them in turn, daring anyone to disagree.

But Dean was smarter than that. He cleared his throat, forcing the uncomfortable _something_ out of his bloodstream. Then he plastered on a short-lived smile.

"You heard the lady. No can do, fellas."

"Dean," Cas tried again, his voice softer. "You're our best hope."

"No. No way. You can't ask me to do this, Cas, not this."

He held Castiel's gaze, begging him silently for all he was worth. Castiel considered him, his head cocked to the side the way he often did. Like a confused animal trying to place a sound. He almost looked concerned, if angels could feel that sort of thing. God, Dean hoped they could. Because if he was Cas's best chance of breaking Alastair, Cas was his best chance at staying whole.

But Uriel was already striding forward, playing front man one more time.

"Who said _anything_ about asking?"

Dean blinked. The motel room was gone. Instead, he was standing inside an abandoned factory. The chill was stronger here, icy wind making its way through the rust-eaten walls. It was a large room with columns and scaffolding overhead, but no other identifying markers. He could've been down the block or in Russia, with no way to tell the difference.

"You know, fuck you guys," he grumbled, turning on the spot to take in the limited sights. "Why don't you just move to Vegas, huh? Set up your disappearing act, get your kicks there?"

"Aw," Uriel chuckled. "The monkey's got jokes."

"Yeah, the monkey's also got a box cutter in his pocket. I might not be able to kill you, Chuckles, but I'm sure it's a lot tougher to be a douche in a vessel that can't breathe."

Uriel raised his hands in surrender, but the gesture was so full of mocking amusement that it didn't give Dean any satisfaction.

"Here."

Castiel's voice rang out from the other side of the room. He was standing next to a door, a small window shining with light from the other side. Against his better judgement, Dean wandered over. He peered through the glass, knowing exactly what he'd find, and somehow still shaken to the core.

It was Alastair. He was strung up in chains, being forced to stand on his tip toes. He hung limply, head drooped low, but a smear of blood still visible on his chin. The restraints bound him to a giant star, six points made out of solid iron if he had to guess. White paint stretched across the floor, making symbols and shapes Dean only vaguely recognized.

"This devil's trap is old Enochian," Castiel explained. "He's bound completely."

Dean allowed himself another moment to look. Another moment to see Alastair chained up good and tight, where he wouldn't be able to hurt anyone. He'd savor this image. At least as long as he could fool himself into believing Alastair hadn't tricked his way out of it. Then Dean turned his back.

"Fascinating. Where's the door?"

"Where are you going?" asked Castiel.

"Hitch a ride back to Iowa, thank you very much."

He walked fast as he could for the door. But travel was a lot faster with wings.

Uriel materialized in front of him, blocking his path to the door and making Dean take a step back.

"Angels are dying, boy."

"Everybody's dying these days," Dean snapped back. "And, hey, I get it. You're all-powerful. You can make me do whatever you want. But you can't make me do this!"

"This is too much to ask," said Castiel. "I know. But we have to ask it."

Dean turned around to look at him. Castiel's eyes were wide, baby blue's still begging Dean to see things his way. But there was something else there. Like Alastair wasn't the only thing Dean needed to understand.

Dean turned back to Uriel, his jaw set.

"I want to talk to Cas alone."

Uriel's smirk floated to the surface once more. He looked at Dean, then over Dean's shoulder at Castiel. Dean was glad he found something funny, at least.

"I think I'll go seek…revelation," he said, after several seconds of thoroughly creepy staring. "We might have some further orders."

Dean nodded. "Well, get some doughnuts while you're out."

Uriel laughed. The sound was almost as unsettling as the cold.

"Ah, this one just won't quit, will he?" he asked, looking Dean up and down. "I think I'm starting to like you, boy."

Before Dean could fully process that disturbing thought, the man disappeared in a ruffle of feathers. Dean shook himself off, turning back to Cas.

"You guys don't walk enough. You're gonna get flabby."

The jab didn't compute with Castiel. He just squinted. Dean deflated. He hated explaining his own jokes.

"You know, I'm starting to think Junkless has a better sense of humor than you do."

"Uriel is the funniest angel in the garrison. Ask anyone."

Dean decided to drop the subject.

"What's going on, Cas?" Even though they didn't appear to have company, Dean lowered his voice. "Since when does Uriel put a leash on you?"

Castiel frowned, avoiding Dean's gaze.

"My superiors have begun to question my sympathies."

"Your sympathies?" Dean repeated.

"I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You."

"And Kat," Dean guessed.

Cas's eyes shot up to meet his. Half warning, half fully admitting guilt.

"They feel I've begun to express emotions, the doorways to doubt. This can impair my judgment."

He turned on his heel, facing the wall again. It seemed to be the safe-pose of an angel in distress.

"Well that's a load of crap," Dean scoffed. "Okay, I get it. Kat's cute, but…it's not like you crossed any boundaries, right? Unless holding a grudge counts as emotion. Kat said you had a little domestic back on the siren case and you tapped out on her. Hell, you haven't seen her in weeks. Why bring down the hammer now?"

This time, when Cas looked up, Dean was shocked to find him glaring.

"Katherine is my responsibility," he said, his voice dangerously low. "I warned her about the narrow view of her perspective. But I would never abandon her."

"Uh…okay," Dean said, a bit shaken. "But you did kind of drop of the radar there for a while."

"Just because I was off _your_ radar does not mean I abandoned my post."

"Okay, fine. Then where the hell were you?"

Castiel continued to stare ahead. Dean was ready to start screaming in frustration, but he reined himself in. He waited, like he had with Kat, and eventually the angel sighed.

"After my…'domestic' with Katherine, I thought it would be best to maintain my distance. I was frustrated with you, and despite her efforts, I was having difficulty understanding your resistance. So I thought I would stay back, observe, watch you solve the case on your own. Until, of course, it was necessary to step in."

"Step in?" Dean echoed.

"Yes. You and Sam are far too adept at killing things to make mistakes. When you were fighting each other, I needed to ensure neither of you would succeed. Or hurt Katherine in the process."

"You…dude, you weren't there. I know I was a little drugged up, but I know that much."

Castiel finally turned to him, giving him an exhausted, pitying look.

"I am an angel, Dean. Just because you could not perceive me does not mean I wasn't there."

"What?" Dean gaped at him. "You…? You can be _invisible_?"

Cas almost managed to roll his eyes.

"I can avoid detection, just as I can manipulate human voice or memory. I was the one who told Katherine to find you and Sam at the hotel, just as I told Sam to travel to Wyoming for this case. And I protected you during the brawl, just as I protected Katherine from the demon Lana."

Dean could only stare. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, it was creepy as all hell. He knew Kat had complained about Castiel watching her, that the dude didn't have any sense of privacy or personal space. He'd thought she was joking for the most part. But hearing that an invisible entity had been tailing him for the better part of two weeks, listening in on his conversations and watching his every move... It made his skin crawl.

On the other hand…it was Cas. After all Dean's bitching about how the angels didn't really care, Castiel had still been there. He'd had their backs, and not even brought it up. So he was uncomfortable, sure. But he couldn't help feeling a little thankful. Not that he was prepared to say that out loud.

"Well," he said instead, "don't tell Kat that. She thinks it was her badass knife-throwing that got her away from Lana."

"Katherine fought admirably," Castiel assured him. "I merely helped her overcome Lana's demonic influence. I intended to intercede, but…your brother arrived before it became necessary."

Castiel's tone wasn't lost on him. Dean frowned.

"So you saw him? Saw what he did."

"Yes," he said gravely.

"Alright. Then why isn't it Sam chained up on your little rig in there? Why's he still walking and talking? Cause I remember you saying pretty clearly that if Sammy kept using his powers, you were gonna stop him yourself."

"Would you prefer that?"

Dean did not answer. It was clear Castiel hadn't expected him to. He turned back to his trusty wall, his jaw set.

"What I saw was Sam interceding on Katherine's behalf. I chose not to act. It's one of the many reasons my superiors have asked me to step aside."

"That's what this is about?" Dean asked incredulously. "The coach put you on the bench for giving a crap?"

"Yes, Dean! That is exactly what this is about!"

Castiel was seething. It made Dean take a step back. He often thought of Cas as a wimp, just a nerdy guy with a crooked tie. It was easy to forget the dude was a freaking angel. When he got angry, it was a lot easier to picture the whole "warrior of god" thing.

"I disobeyed a direct order," Castiel reminded him furiously. "I interfered to protect you. I looked the other way, to protect you. Angels are not meant to 'give a crap,' as you say. We are meant to carry out our missions. And that's why you need to do this, Dean."

"Oh, for you? So you can go back to checking your boxes?"

"No. For Katherine."

Dean tensed. His eyes drifted back to the door on the other end the room, dim light shining through the window. He felt bad even thinking about it. Kat had made her opinion on the matter perfectly clear. She didn't want to be helped, not like that. Still, he'd be lying if he said he hadn't considered it.

"We need to do this," said Castiel, sensing Dean's hesitation. "This information—it could be the difference between life and death for her."

"Kat knows what she's up against," said Dean. "It's her life, her choice. You heard what she said. All she needs to know is to not get captured. If it's good enough for her, it's good enough for me."

"And what if it's not good enough? What if Alastair sends ten demons next time? Or twenty?"

"Then we'll just have to protect her."

"But I can't, Dean," Cas said imploringly. "Not anymore. I know what I'm asking. And for what it's worth, I would give _anything_ not to have you do this. But…I need you to...to give a crap. For both of us."

His eyes were so pleading that Dean had to look away.

Of course he gave a crap. That was exactly why he couldn't do it. Kat didn't want him to. But it was more than that. If he opened that door, if he tapped into that part of himself...he wasn't sure he could even face her. Not after she'd been so scared of Sam. And she'd been terrified. He didn't want her to be afraid of him, so afraid that she couldn't look at him.

He knew that was stupid. Kat already knew what he'd done down in Hell. She'd as good as told him she didn't care. But that had been when the past was behind him. And yeah, there were a lot of reasons he didn't want to start torturing again. A lot of _really good_ fucking reasons. One of them was just that he wanted to protect her from that part of himself. Protect everyone.

But tearing into Alastair was protecting Kat. Cas was right. They'd been lucky ditching the demons so far. They'd had his help. But if Castiel was out of the picture, their luck was bound to run out soon. If Kat was in danger, wasn't it better to wipe the threat off the board? If she was gonna be scared, wasn't it safer to be scared of him?

Dean clenched his jaw, and nodded.

"When do we start?"


	55. Chapter 55

**TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains depictions of torture and violence, as displayed in _Supernatural_ 4.16 "On the Head of a Pin." Please proceed with caution.**

* * *

"Damn it!"

Kat jumped at Sam's yell. She spun around, but—Dean was gone. The angels were gone. It was just the two of them, standing alone in the motel room, lost again.

She cursed under her breath, but that was all the time she allowed herself. The next moment, she was storming to her bed, grabbing her boots and tugging them on over her sweatpants.

"Kat?" Sam was watching her in confusion. "Kat, what—where are you going?"

"My car. We've gotta find him, right? Let's move it."

"Woah, just—slow down, Kat. We don't even know where they are!"

"So?" she asked. She nearly toppled over trying to force her foot into the shoe.

" _So_ they're angels! They could've taken him anywhere! He could be in Jerusalem for all we know, or Antarctica!"

"Well, we gotta start somewhere. Come on."

She grabbed her car keys and hoisted a half-packed bag onto her shoulder. But Sam stepped between her and the door.

"Seriously?" she snapped. "He's _your_ brother, Sam. Why am I the one leading the charge?"

"I want to find him," Sam said carefully. "I do, but we need to have a plan. I mean, what are you gonna do, Kat? Hop on the interstate and wait for a sign?"

"It's better than sitting here and waiting! I know _you_ got to contribute to the last hunt, but I am done with sitting around with my fingers crossed. I need to _do_ something. So yeah, let's get on the road and go find something. Let's drive to a church, or get Bobby. Something's gotta be able to track Dean."

"Something can track Dean," Sam agreed. "Just let me make a phone call."

Kat stopped, staring up at him in confusion. When her brain caught up, she shoved him in the chest.

"No! Don't you fucking dare, Sam!"

"Kat, you said it yourself. We need to find him. This is the fastest way."

"Well find another way," she growled. "I'm not working with your fuck-buddy ever again."

She pushed him out of the way, rummaging through her go bag.

"You know, Ruby's never done anything to you." It was incredible that Sam was still trying to argue with her, laughing dryly as she moved around the room. "I know you two don't get along, but she's been tracking demons to keep you safe. She's been sticking her neck out. She's _trying_ to be nice!"

"Nice and good aren't the same thing, Sam. Just cause she's nice to you doesn't mean I have to trust her. And I'm not going to."

"Even though she saved my life."

"Yeah, Sam. And the angels saved Dean. You wanna invite them on the road trip?"

Sam glowered instead of answering her. It was hard to hide a satisfied smile. Sometimes, the Winchesters made it all too easy to argue. They used the same points over and over again. It was getting to the point that she could predict a whole argument in her head before she even opened her mouth.

Kat stuffed a few extra guns into her bag, along with her holy water pistol. It wouldn't be as effective as the demon knife, but she'd already given that back to Dean. If the angels planned on having him carve up Alastair, she was certain that toy was no longer at her disposal.

She twirled her keys around her finger, but before she could make it to the door, Sam spoke up again.

"Is this about Ruby? Or is this about me?"

It made her stop with her hand on the doorknob. Leave it to a Winchester to twist an argument with a guilt trip.

Her hand slid off the door. "Sam…"

"You thought I wouldn't notice?" His voice was weak, and he almost chuckled. "Kat, you haven't looked at me straight in two days."

"Don't put this on me," she said, rounding on him. "You've been avoiding me just as much."

"Yeah, because I know you're terrified! I know that! Because I used to be terrified, Kat. I know how scary these powers are, because I'm the one who's got them. And maybe I should have told you, maybe I shouldn't have lied, but…can you please try to understand why I've been putting this off?"

Kat closed her eyes and sighed. She tried to keep Dean's words in mind, Pamela's advice. Admonishing Sam wasn't going to accomplish anything. No matter how tangled his logic was, he wasn't going to see reason any other way. She couldn't push him, even if that meant she had to swallow the truth.

But when she opened her eyes, she was surprised. Whatever she was bracing herself to see, it wasn't there. Sam was—his eyes pleading, the heartbreak clear on his face. But it was just Sam. Sam who had sparred with her at the gym, who'd given her piggyback rides and forced her to see _Dracula_. Sam who'd sat with her and cried in front of Jess's grave. So maybe his logic was tangled. It was still him.

"I do understand." Kat dropped her bag, walking further into the room. She held his gaze in earnest. "Sam, you…you saved me. And I can't thank you enough, really. But using your powers…"

"I had to, Kat."

"I know. I know, Lana was a lot more powerful than last time. There was no telling what she could…"

"No, not because of Lana. Because of Jess."

Kat stopped short. She looked at Sam with mounting alarm. The puppy dog eyes were only getting worse, but he quickly dropped her gaze. Kat couldn't remember him being so shaken since she'd first found out about Ruby.

Sam took a deep breath, walking away to perch on the edge of the bed.

"You…You remember when we went to the park? The first time we were catching up, and I told you about my old visions?"

"Yeah," she said apprehensively. "What about it?"

"I didn't know they were visions at first. You know, I just thought they were nightmares. I used to have them all the time, and…I used to have one about Jess. The way she died…I'd been dreaming about it for weeks."

Kat's jaw clenched. Before she could find the proper reaction, Sam rushed on.

"I didn't know," he begged her. "I mean, I had _no_ reason to think they would come true. You know? I—I thought they were just normal, fucked up nightmares about family trauma and running from my past, and—and I blamed myself for _years_ , and I still do but…"

"Sam," she said firmly, her voice trembling. " _Why_ are you telling me this?"

"Because…Because I couldn't save her."

Sam stared down at the carpet. He'd gone from shaking to being unnaturally still. His mind was someplace else, somewhere it couldn't make his body react.

"You said it yourself," he said. "I tried to forget who I was, and that's what got her killed. I tried to ignore my powers, and Jessica died. I don't want to do that this time. Not when I can save you."

He looked up at her, and his gaze was so intense that Kat almost stepped back. She floundered for a few moments, trying to shake her head.

"O-Okay, well, you saved me. So, mission accomplished."

"No. Not yet." Sam stood up from the bed, composed and resolute. "I can do this, Kat. I can break Alastair, and find a way to keep you safe."

"What? No!" This time, she didn't bother trying to control her voice. "Have you listened to a fucking word I've said? No, Sam!"

"Kat, I know it's scary, but I know my limits. Using my powers is a way more effective way to get him to talk than using Dean, and this way…"

"No! Just stop talking! Why do either of you need to torture him, okay? I don't want you to!"

"Kat, this is your _life_ and…"

"I know it's my life, thanks," she snapped, jabbing him in the chest. "And I know my odds. Now Alastair is a demon thousands of years old. If the angels can't break him, with all the toys in their toy chest, then it is not going to come down to one of you. You're supposed to be the smart one, so I know you know that. So stop using me as a fucking excuse and help me find your brother."

They stared at each other, trapped in a standoff. Sam might have towered over her, but Kat's glare was twice as strong. But they were equally stubborn, and equally sure they were right. It might have been hours before one of them moved. But Kat's phone went off in her pocket, breaking the silence. She hung her head. One more shot, and she was done.

"Don't call her, Sam. Please."

Sam squared off his shoulders, and looked down on her in defiance.

"Call me when you hear from Bobby," he said. "I'll let you know if I find something."

Kat knew that he wouldn't. But she also knew there was no point in arguing. So she collected her things, and she left alone.

She tried to keep a level head as she walked. She checked out at the front desk in a clipped voice. She walked a little faster than she needed to, and threw her bag into the back with more force than she'd meant. When her stereo turned on with the engine, she slammed her hand so hard on the power button that it didn't even register. She had to do it three more times to get it right. Then she sat in the silence, and glared at the steering wheel.

She screamed, just because she could. It was a guttural sound, and it tore at her throat, straining her temples and making her head pound. It made the following silence that much stronger.

Kat took a deep breath, and pulled out onto the road.

She called Bobby first. There was no answer, which was unusual enough. But even Bobby had to sleep, she supposed. Hopefully that's all it was. Her next call would have been Ellen, or Jo, but something held her back. Neither of them knew about what Dean had done in Hell. Neither of them knew the full extent of Sam's affinity for demons. She had no idea how she would even begin to explain her predicament without bringing them on board. It put her in an awkward position. She didn't want to lie to them, even by omission, but it also wasn't her baggage to share. Ellen and Jo didn't know enough to help, and knew too much to ask without suspicion.

Kat typed in a more familiar number and waited.

 _"Hello?"_

"Hey, Mom. It's me."

 _"Thank God,"_ her mother sighed, her voice full of relief _. "I know it's only been a few days, but I still get so worried when you don't call. When you didn't pick up before, I thought…"_

"I'm fine, Mom. Promise."

She stared at the road in front of her, wondering about the last time that had even been true.

 _"Are you wrapping up another case?"_

"Yeah. We saved a seal in Wyoming. Actually, Sam and Dean did most of the work. I was kind of on the bench."

 _"They_ benched _you?"_ It was almost amusing how offended she sounded. _"They benched the only person with a positive track record?"_

"I didn't like it either," Kat said with a grin. "But they said there were too many demons around. Didn't want to take any chances."

 _"Oh, well in that case, I agree with them. You were being very reckless trying to help, and I'm eternally thankful for the Winchester boys."_

"Right. I'm sure you are."

 _"How are they? Still fighting like divorcees?"_

Kat hesitated. She had called for help, after all. The truth was on the tip of her tongue.

She swallowed it.

"Someone's always fighting," she said, letting out a weak laugh. "I guess we just take it in turns to be stuck in the middle."

 _"Well tell Sam it's his turn next. If they don't switch it up soon, I'm worried they'll kill each other. Or you'll snap and do it before they can manage."_

"Rapidly approaching door number two."

 _"Just try and practice the serenity prayer. And remember, nothing is permanent. Not even this."_

"Yeah, I know… Thanks, Mom."

 _"Anytime, baby,"_ she assured. The grin in her voice had the curious effect of making Kat want to cry. _"You already have another case, or do you finally get some downtime?"_

"No, uh—uh Dean's working on something," said Kat, hiding her sniffle. "I'm trying to find something to help."

 _"Anything I can do?"_

"No…no, I don't think so. I just wanted to hear your voice."

Her mother paused doubtfully on the other end.

 _"Are you sure you're alright, honey?"_

"Yeah, I just…I'm tired. I gotta go, though. I have to make a few more calls."

 _"Katherine Diana…"_

"Seriously, Mom," she said with a smile. "I'll call you when I get the chance."

 _"Alright. But be safe, okay? You come before the rest of the world."_

"Got it."

 _"And there's always someone ready to listen to you. I know you can't always call me, but if the boys are getting on your nerves, you've got a whole bunch of other hunter friends who know the score. And your on-again-off-again angel friend. And whatever other angels you've met by now."_

"Utilize your support system, I got it."

 _"And also…remember I love you."_

"Yeah. I love you too, Mom."

Kat ended the call, and tossed the phone onto her passenger seat. She wasn't sure if she felt any better. A little less volatile, maybe, but her homesickness was almost as distracting as her rage. She didn't want to be fighting with the Winchesters, arguing with angels and torturing demons. She just wanted to go home to her mom, and Harley, and the gym. She missed the simple gratification of it all.

It was a tempting thought that she had to shake off. Nothing was permanent. She would go back to California later. Maybe much later. But right now, the present required her full attention. And her mother's advice had given her another bad idea for help.

She drove a little further down the interstate, trying to find a spot safe to go off-road. That wasn't an easy job for a Prius, but she and Scotty managed it. She pulled onto the shoulder, and when she was sure there were no approaching cars, drove through the grass to a patch of trees. She wanted to be thoroughly out of sight. The last thing she needed was an interruption.

Once she was sure the car wouldn't be seen, Kat bundled up in an extra sweatshirt and started walking away from the road. She wasn't entirely sure her plan was going to work. There was a good chance it wouldn't, in which case the only downside would be feeling like an idiot. If it did, though, she didn't want to risk her car getting damaged. She preferred her windows all intact.

She walked about a mile out into the tall grass. It was close enough that she could still see her car, far enough that she'd been an unidentifiable speck from the road. She spun on the spot, checking her conditions like she knew what she was looking for. When she couldn't put it off any longer, she let her hands fall to her sides. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she tipped her head back toward the sky.

"Castiel?"

The name died in the air, nothing for the sound to bounce back off of. Kat peeked one eye open. She watched the fog of her breath disappear in the air. Her eyes squeezed tighter, she tried again.

"Castiel, please. It's Kat. I…I don't know where you are, and I'm not positive that this works. But you said you'd always be with me so…I figured I'd give it a shot. Do…Do you wanna pick up?"

The night sky did not answer her. Kat's lip curled as she glared up at it.

"Fine," she grumbled. "Fuck you, you pretentious, lying bastard."

She probably should have tried again, but she was already starting to shiver uncontrollably. She tried to rub some feeling back into her cheeks, hopping up and down on the spot. Working up the courage for Plan B, she tried to find the right words.

"This is so stupid. This is…fuck. Okay, um… _Anna_ …if you're still going by that name. Shit, I don't even know if this works if I don't know what the angels call you. Do I have to use your like _God-given_ name? Whatever, uh…Anna, I don't know if you can hear me, but it's Kat. Katherine Moore. I don't exactly know how praying works, and I know you're supposed to be in hiding, but if you can hear me, we really need help. The angels have Dean. They took him somewhere, I can't find him, and…I don't know who else to ask."

Kat held her breath. She knew prayer wasn't instant, but it should've been pretty quick, right? They were telepathic, ethereal beings. How hard could it be to send a quick brain message or a text?

Still, she waited longer than she had for Castiel. He was the one who had taken Dean in the first place. Even if he could hear her, it wasn't like he was going to change his mind. At least Anna had better excuses. Maybe she couldn't answer. Maybe the other angels had caught up and she was dead. Maybe she'd left for a different Earth that was easier to protect. Maybe she was just out of range. Maybe…

 _"You shouldn't be so careless with your prayers."_

Kat hadn't even noticed that she'd stopped shivering. Wind was whipping the grass, and yet she felt perfectly at ease. She opened her eyes, staring directly into the bright light over her. She recognized Anna at once. Not by her face or her voice. She didn't have her vessel anymore. But something in the abstract swirl was so easy for Kat to identify.

Her eyes watered, and she swayed on the spot.

 _"Close your eyes."_

"No, I—I don't have to."

 _"I know you don't."_ The words were only inside her head, but she could feel the amusement behind them. _"But it will be easier."_

Reluctantly, Kat complied. She was relieved to find that she still felt warm.

 _"You need to be more careful_ ," Anna warned. _"Prayers are not always a secure way to communicate. They are easily intercepted by higher powers."_

"I thought you were the higher power," said Kat. "That's why no one came after you."

 _"Castiel and Uriel did not. But there are others who will."_

"I'm sorry. I know you were hiding, but…"

 _"No. This is important. Katherine, what happened to Dean?"_

"He's—He's gone." Kat shivered again, not from the cold. "We saved a seal in Wyoming, and the angels were able to trap Alastair. But Cas said that there are angels dying, angels from your garrison. They want Dean to question Alastair for information. To torture him."

She felt the wave of angelic fury in her chest, like a powerful subwoofer in a club.

 _"When?"_

"About an hour ago. Uriel and Castiel were there. Dean said no, but…"

 _"They would not have given him a choice. Not with something like this."_

"Do you know where they are?" Kat begged. "Can you find them?"

 _"I can. I'll speak to them, Kat. Don't worry."_

Kat felt the wind dying down. Panic seized her, and her eyes shot open.

"Wait! No, wait! Take me with you!"

She felt Anna's confusion in her own forehead, as if it were her eyebrows that were knitting together in concern.

"Please," said Kat. "This—They're fighting about it because of me. Cas told Dean that if he tortured Alastair, he could find out why the demons are looking for me, what they want me for. If he listens to him—I have to do something!"

 _"Kat,"_ Anna's presence seemed to sigh, _"if Alastair and his associates are looking for you, that is all the more reason to stay away. You would not be safe there."_

"None of them are safe there! If Alastair gets out, or if someone comes looking for him…"

 _"Then Dean and Castiel will have enough trouble on their hands without trying to protect you."_

Kat knew that this was true. Still, she ground her teeth, staring defiantly into the light above her. The vague notion of a face seemed to soften, or maybe that was the light. Either way, it was a gentler message she got next.

 _"I know how hard this is, Kat. But I cannot put you in harm's way. I will talk to Castiel, get Dean out if I can. You need to stay hidden. Stay with Sam."_

The laugh that clawed out of Kat's throat was broken. She could feel her eyes watering again.

"Yeah, wish that I could." She felt Anna's confusion, but didn't give her a chance to ask. "Look, I know the last time we had the band together, you were Team Ruby, but Sam's working with her again. He's using his powers _again_. He wants to take on Alastair so Dean doesn't have to."

 _"No."_

Anna's voice was strong. It wasn't quite the same feeling as her fury though. It almost felt like fear.

"Anna, please. Just let me come and…"

 _"No, Kat. Stay here. Stay hidden. I will send word when I can."_

The light was gone before she could form a better argument.

Kat fell to her knees in the grass. She screamed, and cursed, and slammed her hands into the ground. There was no way to tell if it was an instinctual response to Anna, or her own rage. She hoped it was the latter. Inconvenient as emotions were, she preferred to own her feelings than be out of control.

Cold was quick to set in. For a while she just curled into a ball, letting the grass scratch her face. It was easier than getting to her feet. But then her fingers began to go numb, and her teeth began to chatter. When the chill turned to pain, she forced herself off of the ground. She trudged back to her car—angry, sore, and defeated.

Much as she hated to admit it, being in the car was a comfort. She blasted the heat as soon as she started it up. While there wasn't immediately any hot air, it was better that the frosty breeze outside. She pulled her hood up, and burrowed back into the seat. Then all she had to figure out was what she was going to do next.

She checked her phone to no success. Bobby hadn't called her back, and she hadn't called anyone else for help. She scrolled through her texts for a message from Sam, but no dice. Not that she'd been expecting a real update anyway. The first thing Ruby probably told him was to leave Kat out of it to keep her safe. Demonic bitch.

On a hopeful whim, she opened a new message.

 _"Don't know if you've got your phone. If you do, please don't do this. Sending help, and we'll find you soon. Hang in there."_

The text sat there under Dean's name. It was pathetically simple, and criminally unhelpful. Even if Dean held out, she was sure the angels had other ways to persuade him. Uriel was probably kicking the crap out of him right now. Or laying some angel mind tricks on him. Otherwise they'd go back to their threats, like they had with Anna. Of course, they couldn't threaten to throw Dean back into the Pit when they needed him. They just wanted him to relieve Hell on Earth.

She glared at the dashboard, continuing to shiver even as the car became stiflingly hot. Thick fog formed on her windows, blocking the outside world. Every few minutes, she'd press the lock button on the door again. There was nothing safe about a locked car abandoned on the side of the interstate in the middle of nowhere, but it made her feel a little more secure. Even if it wouldn't stop the hoard of demons on her ass.

With nothing better to do, she dug her case notebook out of her bag. She finished off a few basic details from the Greybull case. They'd saved the seal, and sent Cole Griffith's soul to the other side. The other non-victims had passed on too, their wounds magically reopening and their cancer coming back two-fold. It wasn't a happy case to write down.

She made an entry about reapers as well, chronicling the few things Sam and Dean had told her. They weren't spirits, per se, but they only existed beyond the veil. To kill them you needed a special weapon—Death's scythe, if Alastair had been telling the truth. They didn't like questions, and they didn't make decisions. Souls had to decide for themselves when they were ready to go into the light. No one had the power to force them.

Kat looked down at the entry, seeming out of place next to the addresses and names of the human victims. She wished she had a better way to organize everything without typing. But maybe organization wasn't everything.

Her thoughts drifted back to John's journal, and the snippets she'd read in the motel room. She'd tried her best not to absorb the private details, but it'd been clear that John was trying to work things out after his wife's death. He was looking for answers, recounting each day in hopes that the right details might end up on the page. It was a great coping exercise, one they'd taught in about every kind of therapy she'd ever tried. She hadn't done it in years…

She put her case notebook aside. Reaching into her duffle, she pulled out a fresh one instead. She tucked her legs up underneath her in the driver's seat, giving her room to lean the pad on her knee. The pen hovered over the paper, and she bit her lip. The blank space was more intimidating than anything. She had no idea where to even begin. She had to keep reminding herself that the beginning wasn't what mattered. It didn't need to be neat, or organized. She just had to get it out onto the page.

Kat took a deep breath, and started to write.

 _Hunting with the Winchesters sucks ass._

 _Every case is an anomaly. Some famous ghost or a crazy creature that only shows up once every thousand years. Or of course the angels, and demons, and literal end of the world. Half the time there's so much going on I can barely think straight. The other half I'm on the bench because I don't know enough and things are too dangerous for me._

 _Honestly, I don't even know why I'm out here. When I left the Roadhouse, it seemed like the right thing to do. Fight the good fight, stop the Apocalypse, make the most of a bad situation. Now I'm not so sure. Every day is another fucking battle, either with a monster or with Sam and Dean. We're all constantly at each other's throats, and I know I don't make things easier on them. They're stuck babysitting me because I wanted to do some good, but then they end up doing all the work anyway because it's too risky to let me near demons. If I can't even help save the seals, what is the goddamn point?_

 _I've thought about taking Cas's offer about the safe house. I don't know if he'd let me take Mom with me. She'd probably be so relieved to see me that she wouldn't mind living in the angels' witness protection for the rest of her life. I'm afraid I'd go stir crazy if I was locked up somewhere. But I'd be about as useful as I am now. Which is no fucking use at all._

She continued to write, complete stream of consciousness. She wrote about not getting through to Sam. She wrote about arguing with Dean, and his relentless immaturity. She wrote about Bobby and Ellen and Jo and Pamela and everyone else she'd met over the past four months. She wrote and wrote and wrote, until a sound made her pause.

Air rushed through the Prius, like the sound of wings. Kat's head shot up, but not fast enough. She didn't see the hand that reached for her head. Only the empty air where her passenger seat had been a moment before.

Kat looked around wildly. She was no longer in her car. Instead she was in some kind of warehouse, rusty walls of corrugated metal all around her. She was perched on an old folding chair, at an empty table, in an empty room. At least, it looked empty to her.

"Katherine?"

Her head snapped around. Standing behind her, looking positively alarmed, was Castiel. Kat hated how much it relieved her to see him. She didn't want to feel safe around him. She wanted to feel pissed.

Before either of them could say anything, another sound rang out through the room. It was a terrible gurgling—screams muffled by pain and walls and liquid she knew for certain was blood. Her eyes shot to the rusty door on the other end of the table. She could see movement through the small window at the top, but the glass was too filthy to make anything out from a distance.

Kat shot out of her chair. At least, she tried to, but she'd been sitting for so long that her legs had trouble unfolding. But the time she'd gotten her knees to cooperate and she felt secure putting weight on them, Castiel had stepped into her path.

"How did you even get here?" he asked, his voice scolding.

"Get out of my way."

"Katherine, you cannot be here. It's not safe."

"I said get out of my way."

"Who sent you…?"

"Move!"

Kat pounded her fists into his chest. She pushed at him and kicked at his shins. It was very rude of him, she thought, to not react. He caught both of her wrists in one of his large hands, and backed her away from the door without the slightest bit of effort.

"Oh, fuck you, Cas," she growled, trying to wrestle her hands back.

"Katherine, how did you get here?" he asked again.

"I don't fucking know, okay? One minute I was sitting in my car, the next I was sitting here. I was waiting for Anna to get back to me about…"

"Anna?" he demanded. "You're the one who called Anna?"

"Of course I am! I needed someone who could find you! I needed to find you!"

"Katherine, this is serious," Castiel said gravely. "If Anna sent you here…"

"Then she's clearly the only one who's listening to me! I went with Sam and Dean to protect the seals. I'm tired of sitting on the sidelines! And don't give me this bullshit about staying safe," she added when Cas opened his mouth to argue, "because in Belle Fourche you marched me right into the line of fire. I'm useful, Cas. So let me help!"

"You can't. This is something only Dean can accomplish."

"That's not true, and you know it. You already tried torturing him. So let's use something that could throw Alastair off his game. If I interrogate him, he'll be so busy bragging and trying to scare me that he might…"

"Absolutely not!" Castiel barked in outrage. "Katherine, it's too dangerous. If Alastair were to…"

"To what? Break free? Cas, if you're worried about that, then Dean shouldn't be in there. No one should!"

Castiel shook his head, the way he always did when their arguments didn't go according to his plan. But he stowed his outrage away. When he looked up at her, he was composed and cold.

"You cannot be here, Katherine. I'm sorry."

He raised his hand toward her, and Kat leapt back.

"No! Cas, please! Just listen to me! If Anna sent me here, it's because she knows we can get through to you. Because she knows you don't want this any more than we do. I know you care, Castiel. So let's find another way!"

"Calling Anna was foolish," Castiel scolded. "I would not listen to her advice any more than I would take orders from a demon. Anna is not someone to be emulated. She fell, willingly became an abomination, a…"

"She became human," Kat snarled. "That's an abomination to you? What? She's a failure because she has empathy? Because she cares about people? About us?"

"Yes."

It hit her like a slap in the face. He'd answered so emphatically. And yet his face was completely passive. A blank mask devoid of any emotion or concern.

Kat smacked him. The sound echoed in the empty room. It hurt her more than it'd hurt him. God, it felt like her hand was broken. But she didn't care. It didn't matter. None of it mattered.

"I'm taking Dean."

She pushed him out of her way and stormed toward the door. She only made it a few paces before he rematerialized in front of her.

"I can't let you do that," he said evenly.

"Oh, but you can let Dean do _that_?" she barked, brandishing a finger at the door. "What is he doing in there, Castiel?"

"You know what he's doing in there."

"No! You _fucking_ —how could you possibly make him do this?"

"Katherine, I am not making Dean do anything," Castiel said earnestly. "Dean chose to walk through that door. He's doing this for you."

"I don't want him to!" she screeched. "I don't—why aren't any of you listening to me? I don't want this! I don't care! Just get him out of there!"

She made another dash for the door. Castiel was ready for her. This time he caught her in his arms, holding her firmly against his chest no matter how hard she pushed against him. She tried with all her might to shove him out of the way, to push him back into the door, even to gain an inch. But Castiel wouldn't budge.

Kat ripped herself back, glaring at him through tears of fury.

"Do you even expect this to work?" she demanded. "Alastair is thousands of years old! Dean's been a torture expert for—what? A couple months? A few years by Hell's standards? How can you _possibly_ think that compares to all the knowledge in Heaven? What happened to the 'warriors of God'?"

"We tried everything we could…"

"Then try harder! Because you and I both know Dean is not going to break Alastair! You are not going to get your precious information. All you're going to do is push Dean to a breaking point. And once he hits it, he's not going to be able to help you, or me, or himself. If he's so important to you as a weapon, why don't you think about that?"

Castiel just watched her scream. His fervor was gone. He seemed tired, deflated. If she hadn't known he was a soulless bastard, she might even have said he looked sympathetic.

"I am thinking about that," he assured her weakly. "And I don't want Dean in there anymore than you do. But I have my orders. And that's what I have to follow."

Kat nodded. She walked up to him slowly, glaring at every inch of him one fraction at a time. Chest to chest, she glowered into his face.

"Screw your orders," she hissed.

She stepped around him, marching for the door. She yanked it open before anyone could stop her and stormed inside.

"Dean, stop, we're going…"

The words died in her mouth, and she stopped dead.

If she hadn't been able to identify the movement from outside, she certainly could now. There was a large rig in the center of the room, iron shaped into a six pointed star. It was draped in bloody chains and straps. But the chains and straps were empty. Instead, Dean was pressed back against the structure, beaten and bruised. He was suspended in the air, face turning purple, only held aloft by one hand around his throat. The man holding him turned around slowly. The fresh blood that soaked his clothes and skin didn't seem to be bothering him much. His face split into a wide smile, showing red-stained teeth to compliment his blank white eyes.

"Katherine," he greeted in a wheezy voice. "So glad you could make it."

Kat didn't have time to think.

She grabbed the first thing she found and rushed forward. Alastair threw her aside with a lazy flick of his fingers. Kat collided with a support column, her body screaming in pain, and she slid to the floor.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Alastair tutted, turning back to him. "Could you hold please?"

He released his grip on Dean's throat, sending his body crumpling to the floor. Kat tried to crawl over, but a force knocked her onto her back. Just like at the graveyard, she was pinned down. She gasped for breath, wide eyes fixed on the ceiling, and Alastair ducked into her field of vision.

"What a pretty kitty," he sang. She could feel his fingers leaving a trail of blood along her jaw. She would have shuddered if she could. There was no telling if it was his own blood or Dean's. "And all gift wrapped for me. I'll have to send a thank you to the angel. Mm, I can smell him on you…"

Alastair vanished abruptly, knocked to the side by the blur of an overcoat. The power restraining Kat broke, but she was so frightened that she still couldn't move. She could hear Castiel and Alastair fighting, only feet away. And all she could do was tremble and stare up at the ceiling.

"Kat!" Castiel barked. "Dean! Now!"

The command spurred her into action. She scrambled to her feet, narrowly dodging the battle as Alastair charged Castiel into the other room. Her path clear, she skittered across the floor, falling to her knees at Dean's side.

He was in bad shape. That was an understatement, but the best her brain could do. His skin was still purple from being choked. Or maybe it was purple from all the bruises and blood. She had no idea how bad it was or what injuries were causing what. Purple veins lined his face between rivers of blood. At a glance she could identify the split skin on his nose, his cheek, his lips. Some of them had to be broken, or fractured at the very least.

"Dean?" She shook him from his chest, desperate to wake him but afraid to make the damage any worse. "Dean, come on, wake up. Please—fuck, please wake up! You fucking asshole, get up!"

She'd started crying again. She moved to shaking fingers to his throat. The whole thing seemed be swollen, she might not even be able to find it—but there. He still had a pulse, at least. She could feel him moving under her hand as his body fought for air.

"Okay," she sighed in relief. "Okay, God, uh…Dean? Can you hear me?"

He did not move or respond in any way.

Before she could think of what to do next, silence startled her from the other room. The screams and grunts had stopped. That was not good.

Kat looked at the door, unable to see anything on the other side. Then she looked back at Dean, unresponsive on the ground.

"Okay, uh…you're good, right? You can wait like two seconds? Okay? Okay."

She patted him on the chest and jumped to her feet. The demon knife lay abandoned a few feet away, covered in blood and salt. She scooped it up and bolted back into the other room.

Alastair had Castiel pinned to a column. He was muttering in Latin, the same kind of incantation he'd attempted at the barn. Kat saw the bright blue light beginning to shine from behind Castiel's eyes. His mouth gaped open, blinding rays creeping through. She ran.

The knife sunk into Alastair's back. Right along his spine, and down to the hilt. It made a satisfactory sizzle under her hand, lighting up orange and yellow and flame white. And then it stopped.

Her hands fell from the blade as Alastair turned around. He was pouting, not in the slightest amount of visible pain.

Kat stumbled back.

"I'm not mad, Katherine," he sighed, shaking his head. "Just disappointed."

He thrust his hand out, and just like the barn, she went flying across the room. This time she hit the ground before the wall, and slid several feet on bruised limbs. But she rolled out of it, forcing herself onto her feet even though at least one of her ankles was sprained. She wasn't going to let him kill Castiel. She couldn't let him do it.

She took several limping steps forward. Alastair just laughed.

"Oh, catty, catty, pussycat. You just don't give up, do you?"

"Okay," Kat groaned, "if you're gonna torture me, can we just skip to the waterboarding and endless pain? Cause I've heard a lot of cat jokes in my life, and comedy is _not_ your calling."

Alastair's stained grin stretched wider.

"Oh! You mean pain like this?"

He raised his hand, and Kat collapsed back to her knees. He wasn't choking her, not like he had last time. Instead it felt as though every one of her vital organs was in a vice grip, being squeezed tighter and tighter until they threatened to split in two. She could feel something forcing its way up her throat—saliva, bile, blood, it could have been her entire esophagus for all she knew. Every atom felt like it was being torn apart from the next…

"No!"

The pressure vanished. Alastair went flying into the wall, but he was not followed by a blurred overcoat. He wasn't followed by anything. With tremendous effort, Kat lifted her head, looking around for the source.

Sam had finally found them. He had his hand out like Alastair's, holding the demon to the wall from twenty feet away. He looked unnervingly calm. It was the same unaffected expression he'd worn when Kat stormed out of the motel room.

Alastair groaned, and spat on the ground.

"Stupid pet tricks…"

"Who's murdering the angels?" asked Sam. "How are they doing it?"

"You think I'm gonna tell you?" Alastair chuckled.

"Yeah. I do."

Sam twisted his hand, clenching his fingers around something invisible. Alastair stiffened against the wall, his whole body shaking. He gagged and gurgled, just like Kat had heard when he was being tortured by Dean.

But Sam was quickly losing his cool composure.

"How are the demons killing angels?" he roared, tightening his fist even further.

"I—I…don't…k-know!"

"Right."

Sam clenched his fist closed, and Alastair grunted in pain. It sounded like he was choking on his own tongue. Sam kept going, his lips curling into a sinister sneer.

"It's…n-not…us! We're…n-not doing it!"

"I don't believe you."

"Ah! Guh-uh…L-Lilith…is not behind this…ack…she wouldn't kill seven angels. She'd kill a hundred…a thousand…"

Sam lowered his arm. Alastair sagged forward, gasping in the fresh air, clutching at his throat. Even Sam's chest was heaving, just from the effort. He looked down on Alastair in disdain.

"And what about Kat? Why do you need her?"

"Aha! Oh…oh ho, we don't…"

"What?" Sam's eyes widened, and he raised his hand again in threat. "Then why have you been hunting her? You said you had plans for her!"

"Oh, we do," Alastair wheezed in deranged glee. "But…it doesn't have to be Katherine. We just… _want_ her…"

His body was slammed back into the wall. Sam thrust his fist forward, and Alastair's eyes bulged like a terrifying children's toy. Still he was smiling, spittle flying in all directions as he laughed.

"We are going—oh, we are going to break her! We're going to break her up inside and out, and then send her home to you in a litter box! Break the kitten…and you break the Winchesters…"

"Shut up!"

Blood was seeping from every orifice of Alastair's face. Even his human eyes were dyed red. He spat out a wad of bile, and fixed Sam with a defiant grin.

"Oh, go ahead. Send me back…if you can…"

"I'm stronger than that now," Sam said. He was smiling too. "Now I can kill."

"Sam, no!"

But it was too late. He raised his hand, closed his eyes, and Sam was gone.

Alastair let out a guttural scream. His jaw dropped open wide, and his skin began to flicker with golden light. Kat could see his skull, his ribs, his whole skeleton lit up from the inside out. In a matter of seconds, Sam managed to do what the knife could not. Alastair's eyes bugged wide, and he slumped against the wall. His legs gave out beneath him. There was an awful scraping sound, the hilt of the knife against the brick as the demon slid down to the floor. Then his body fell to the side, dead.

For several seconds, none of them moved. Kat could only watch as Sam stood there panting. He lowered his hand, flexing and stretching his fingers as though he'd just written a very long essay. He used the same hand to push his hair out of his face. There was still the ghost of a smile, a look of pride.

It was gone by the time he turned to her. He just looked concerned, drained, shaken. Kat wished she could believe they were real.

"Dean?" he asked.

Kat pointed to the door. Sam rushed past her, and she couldn't help but shrink out of his way. She wasn't sure that he even noticed.

"Katherine…"

She turned around to find a battle-torn Castiel at her shoulder. She reached out to steady him on instinct, even though he didn't seem off balance.

"Cas, are you…?"

"I'm fine," he assured her. "My vessel will need time to heal, but there will be no lasting damage. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." She felt more like she was repeating the words than speaking them for himself. "Alastair's powers…I mean, it hurt like hell, but I don't think…"

"That's not what I meant."

Kat looked up at him. Castiel's mask of indifference was gone. His blue eyes were boring into hers, the blue that felt like rain, not steel. Every inch of his face was lined with concern, and despite everything he'd said in their argument, she knew that it was genuine.

"What Alastair said…" he started lowly.

"Nothing we didn't already know."

She needed to shut the conversation down. It had been disturbing enough to hear the first time. After everything that had happened, she wasn't ready to relive it just yet.

"Look, we can worry about me later," she sighed. "Just help Dean. Please."

Castiel nodded wordlessly. He followed after Sam, leaving Kat alone in the cavernous room.

She carded her hands through her hair, dismayed to find that she could still feel them trembling. But she could only focus on one thing at a time. She'd asked for a piece of the action, and that's what she'd gotten. Now she just had to find a way to deal with it.


	56. Chapter 56

Avoiding Sam Winchester was becoming second nature for Kat. She'd helped him load Dean into the Impala, then to the nearest hospital they could find. Dean had been accepted pretty quickly. They both stayed until he was safely settled in a room. After that, they had come to a silent agreement to take it in turns watching over him.

Kat had left first. Castiel had sent her back to her car, which was thankfully still sitting on the side of the interstate. She took her time driving back. The sun was already peaking over the horizon, and while she was exhausted, she was in no rush to return to the awkwardness of sharing a hospital room with Sam.

Still, she did all she could to pretend everything was normal. She picked up breakfast and got Sam his coffee. He'd accepted it graciously and they'd eaten in mostly comfortable silence. But afterwards, he'd excused himself. He still had to update Ruby on what had happened, and he wanted to do it face to face. Kat was too tired to argue. She couldn't even decide whether or not she was happy he'd told her the truth. He wasn't lying, which was a plus, but ignorance and plausible deniability had been its own special kind of bliss.

Around and around they went, their excuses becoming weaker and weaker. Kat left to call Bobby and explain the missed messages from the night before. Sam left to get them lunch, and was gone for several hours. Kat's trip to the vending machine took hours as well. Sam disappeared to get an update from the doctor, Kat an aspirin, Sam a soda.

But when he finally returned, he was not alone.

"Cas," said Kat, perking up in her chair by the window. "Anna...?"

Kat jumped out of her seat, but Anna waved her off with a small smile.

"It's alright, Kat. Castiel and I have…put aside our differences for the moment."

"Oh." Kat looked between them, not entirely reassured. "I guess that's not good."

"No, it's not," Castiel sighed. "We were able to discover the culprit behind the angel killings."

"Well, that's great, right?" asked Sam. "Who was it?"

"Uriel."

"Wait, what?" Kat couldn't help but stare. "Holier-than-thou, humans-are-maggots, Uriel? Killing angels?"

"Yes. When I confronted him, he admitted to leading a small faction of angels that have been working against us. Working to bring on the Apocalypse rather than stop it."

"But…why?" asked Sam.

"Because most angels crave leadership," Anna said softly. "I told Dean that only six angels in Heaven have actually met God. While our orders are said to come from him, there's no way to know for sure. Many of them are…unsatisfied with the way things are."

"Then why not leave?"

Kat shot Sam a disbelieving look. "Seriously? And end up like Anna? They'd have a death sentence on their head."

"Yeah, but if so many of them are unhappy…"

"Angels are creatures of order," said Castiel. "We are trained to follow command, wherever it may lead us. Democracy has nothing to do with it. Uriel was hoping to sway some of the angels to his cause. The deaths are the result of the angels who stood up to him."

Sam deflated, clearly displeased with the explanation. Kat followed his eyes back to the hospital bed where Dean was still unconscious after a whole day.

"So it was Uriel who broke the trap?" he asked. "Who set Alastair free?"

"Yes," answered Castiel. "He planned for Alastair to kill Dean and escape with Katherine."

"Me?" Kat asked, in surprise. "But how could he know…?"

"Uriel brought you to the warehouse," Anna explained. "He must have been listening for your prayers. I never would have put you in that situation, Kat. We're lucky you and Dean made it out alive."

"Right." She nodded at the floor, a knot of discomfort twisting in her stomach. "I don't know how much luck had to do with it."

She could feel Sam's eyes on her. Hell, she could almost feel Castiel's eyes on Sam. Anna must've picked up on the tension, but she was kind enough not to address it.

"Well, Uriel is dead," she informed them. "Unfortunately, I don't think that's going to stop the other angels who share his cause."

"Great," Kat said with a bitter smile. "So now I'm running from Heaven and Hell. Gotta love those odds."

"Don't concern yourself with Uriel's allies," Castiel assured her. "They're few in numbers, with no leadership. I won't allow any of them to approach you while you're my responsibility."

"Am I?" Kat asked before she could stop herself. "Still your responsibility?"

Castiel softened, and very nearly smiled. Kat was sure he might've if Sam and Anna hadn't been in the room.

"Of course. Though I will ask the three of you abstain from danger for the time being. At least until Dean has healed."

Everyone turned to Dean's unconscious form once more.

"How is he?" Anna asked.

"Lucky," Sam answered with a hollow laugh. "Bruised and fractured head to toe. I don't think there's a part of him Alastair didn't punch. He still hasn't woken up."

Anna nodded. She walked to the side of Dean's bed, holding a hand out over his forehead. A warm glow filled the room. Still, when it faded away, Dean looked the same.

Sam rushed forward in concern. "What is it? Is he okay?"

"He's fine," Anna said reassuringly.

"But—his face…I mean, why isn't he…?"

"Because we're in the middle of a hospital, Sam." She smiled gently, and laid a hand on his arm. "Making a full recovery overnight would be a miracle, and draw a lot of attention. Something I'm trying to avoid at the moment, seeing as I'm still on the run."

"But you will be able to?" asked Kat. "I thought Cas said he couldn't be healed."

"I've got a little more juice than Castiel," Anna said, then glanced over her shoulder. "No offense."

Castiel frowned and looked away, looking offended anyway.

"I'll come when I can," she said, turning back to Sam and Kat. "I can't make any promises, but he'll make a full recovery."

"Thank you, Anna," Sam said earnestly.

There was a knock on the door, and by the time Kat had turned her head, Anna and Castiel had already vanished.

"Visiting hours are over," a nurse informed them, sticking her head into the room. "Now that your friend is stable…"

"Oh, we understand," Sam said hastily. "Sorry, we'll—we'll clear out."

Kat had planned on doing no such thing, but Sam was already collecting their belongings. Once he was sure the nurse was out of sight, he slipped Dean's silver blade under the hospital pillow. Kat was sure a he'd hidden a hundred other precautions around the room while she'd been out. Somehow, it still made her uneasy, leaving him there alone.

But then again, she thought, catching a glimpse of a tan overcoat through the blinds, he wasn't entirely alone after all.

She followed Sam out to the parking lot, and was ready to split off to her own car when he stopped short.

"Do you wanna get a drink?"

Kat eyed him warily. "You? Want to go to a bar?"

"Yeah. I mean, if that's alright by you."

"I prefer to drink in the privacy of my room, thanks." She gave him a tight smile, and started to back up toward her car. "But hey, don't let me stop you. There's a motel a couple of minutes away. I'll text you the address and…"

"Kat, we can't keep avoiding each other like this."

She frowned at him. She felt perfectly fine avoiding him. But Sam was already hunching his shoulders and scuffing his feet, turning on the kicked puppy dog look. It annoyed her more than anything else.

"You're a serious hypocrite, you know that?" she jabbed. "All you and Dean ever do is avoid talking about things. You're good at it. Why can't we just stew in silence and move on?"

Sam chuckled. "Cause you're not Dean."

Kat narrowed her eyes at him.

"I am not agreeing to this because you're complimenting me."

"Duly noted," he said with a nod. "Receptionist said there's a bar up the road. You want a lift?"

"Uh, no. I'd like to drive myself so I can leave when I get sick of you."

She turned away without waiting for a reply. Sam's laughter echoed in the parking lot behind her. She just hoped he realized that she was only half joking.

The bar was more crowded than she would have liked. It was almost enough to make her change her mind. But Sam had managed to find them a table in the corner and a couple of stools. As he'd pointed out, if you were going to talk about demons in a public place, it was probably better to go someplace loud where no one would overhear. Kat still couldn't see why they had to be in public at all, but he'd left to get their beers before she could argue.

"So," he said, once they'd gotten squared away. "Uh…how are you feeling?"

"Really?" Kat asked, raising an eyebrow. "Now you wanna beat around the bush?"

Sam gave her a pointed look.

"Alastair threw you around pretty good. Are you sure you don't need to see a doctor?"

"I'm fine," she said, for what felt like the millionth time. "It sucked, but I'm fine."

He nodded, looking back to his beer. Kat bit her lip, watching him closely.

"What about you?" she asked. "You sure you...?"

"Didn't go dark side?"

"Hey you said it, not me."

"I'm good. Seriously." He must've caught her look of disbelief, because he sighed and leaned back in his seat. "Kat, I did exactly what I said I was gonna do. My way worked. Dean's didn't."

"Not that you stopped to ask."

"Alastair was out. He was throwing you and Cas around like chew toys. I figured it was safe to assume the interrogation wasn't going well."

Kat reluctantly tilted her head. She had to give him that.

"Still," he continued, his eyes fixed back on the table. "I know I might've…crossed a line. With Alastair. So, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, Sam," said Kat, shaking her head wearily. "I know you'd do it again."

"Yeah, you're right," he said plainly. "I would."

Some part of her had hoped he'd deny it. At least be a little sheepish. But the most he could muster was a half-hearted shrug. It made the knot in her stomach tighten again. She was hesitant to ask her next question, but she needed to get it off her chest.

"You don't think you enjoyed it just a little too much?"

"And?" Sam merely shook his head, his indifference staggering. He actually chuckled. "Are you saying you wouldn't enjoy killing Lana?"

"Of course I would," she conceded. "And I'll be relieved as Hell when she's dead. But I saw that look on your face, Sam. You looked…God, you were practically grinning while he choked. You didn't need to drag that out."

Now Sam did look sheepish. He dropped her gaze, playing idly with the label on his bottle.

"Honestly I feel like I didn't drag it out enough."

"Sam..." she said warningly, but he was already shaking his head.

"I just mean that...I could've gotten him to tell us the real reason the demons want you. I just got so angry..."

"Yeah, well that's one thing I didn't need to hear any more of."

Kat looked out over the crowd, retreating into her own drink. Just the memory of Alastair's voice was enough to put her on edge. It'd been hard to listen to at the time. But every minute she put behind her made the memory worse. It gave her more time to imagine what exactly the demons might do to "break her."

Sam reached out across the table. He laid his hand on her arm, and she did her best not to flinch away.

"Kat, we're not gonna let that happen to you," he said sincerely. "You heard Cas. No one's gonna come near you."

"I know, but…at what cost, Sam?"

He blinked at her in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know." She pulled her arm out from under his hand. It was hard to look him in the eye. "Sometimes I think it would just be easier on everyone if I went with Castiel. Angelic safe house and…whatever."

"What? No!"

She'd expected the outrage. It was one of the reasons she didn't want to look at him. But Sam's fervor was hard to ignore.

"Kat, weren't you listening to Anna?" he demanded, ducking into her line of vision. "Even some of the angels aren't on your side. If Uriel was willing to give you up...I mean, who knows who could get to you in Heaven. You're safer with us."

"Right..."

She didn't need to voice her doubt. Safe wasn't something a lot of people felt around the Winchesters. No matter how well-intentioned they were, there was no denying the fact that they were danger magnets.

"Look," Sam sighed, still leaning forward over the table. "I know you don't like me using my powers. I get that it scares the crap out of you, and trust me—the last thing I want on this _earth_ is to scare you. But when I think about all the times the demons could have gotten to you, everything that could've happened if I didn't step in... Kat, that scares _me_."

Kat smiled at him, her face full of pity.

"Sam…I really don't care."

That one threw him for a loop.

"You don't...what?"

"I know you're worried about me," she said. "I obviously don't think you're lying about that. But I also know that...that's not all that's going on here. You _want_ to use your powers. I'm just a perk. An excuse. And I can't enable you and tell you that's okay."

It was Sam's turn to sit back in disbelief. He smiled, absolutely outraged, and dragged his beer off the table. Kat waited for him to take a few sips. She didn't want to soften the blow by rushing into her next point.

"But," she said carefully. "I also know I can't control you."

Sam glanced up at her, and she shrugged.

"Hey, it's your life, and you're gonna do what you think is right. Not like I haven't tried everything in the book to make my point. So, I guess this is just how it's gonna be."

He didn't look entirely comforted by that stance, but he didn't fight her.

"So what do you expect me to do?" he asked, taking another resigned sip of his beer.

"I don't know. Just...think of it like sex."

Sam choked on his beer. He spluttered, spraying it over the table in a way that would have been funny if it hadn't been so serious.

"I—I'm sorry, like… _W-what?"_

"Actually, I guess it's not a bad metaphor," Kat mused. She hadn't even blinked. "You are sleeping with her, after all."

"Kat!"

"Look," she sighed. "I don't approve of your... _thing_ with Ruby. And I don't need to hear the gory details. But I don't want you to lie to me anymore. Kind of makes me feel like the other woman. Especially if you're gonna be a bad liar. Deal?"

She held her hand out to him, careful not to drag her elbow through the spit on the table. Sam eyed her warily. But after a few seconds of consideration, he seemed to conclude it was the best he was going to get out of the conversation. He eclipsed her hand with his own, and shook.

"Deal."

"Good." Kat smiled, and passed him a pile of napkins. "Now all we've got to worry about is Dean."

"Ha," he scoffed as he wiped up his mess. "I don't think he's gonna let it go that easy."

Kat fixed him with a hard stare.

"I meant after he tortured Alastair. Not dealing with your bullshit."

"Ah...right." He grimaced down at the table, and cleared his throat. "How bad was it?"

"I don't really know," Kat answered. "By the time I got in there, Alastair already had the upper hand. But the amount of blood on him…Dean really cut into him."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's what I was afraid of."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, both nursing their beers. The fact was that no one would know just how bad Dean was until he woke up. All they could do was prepare for the worst, and hope for the best.

"Maybe it won't be that bad," Sam offered, in a pathetically optimistic tone. "We got there pretty fast. He was only alone for a few hours."

"Sure," Kat agreed morosely. "That's only, what? A couple weeks in Hell-time?"

"Yeah, but they weren't _actually_ in Hell."

"I know. But Dean was."

Neither of them said anything after that. They finished their beers, paid, and went back to their separate cars. Sam followed Kat to the motel she'd looked up. Somehow he'd managed to climb out and get into the lobby before she'd even parked her car. Stupid giant legs.

Kat shivered as she walked into the motel, shuffling her way to the front desk. But Sam waved her off.

"No, don't worry. I took care of it."

She couldn't help but roll her eyes. Of course he was going to try and bribe his way out of a bad situation. But she wasn't going to complain. If he wanted to blow money on a motel room for her, she'd take the extra dough.

Kat followed him down the hall to his room. Sam fumbled a bit with his room key, unlocking the door and holding it open for her.

"Ah, I don't think so," she said. "One drink's enough for me. I'm just gonna head to my room."

Sam looked shiftily around the room. It took a few moments for the realization to set it.

"Dude!" Kat charged forward to smack him.

"Ow! Come on, Kat…"

"No! No, I put up with it for one night, but we're not in Wyoming, and…"

"And demons are still on your tail," he said firmly. "And so are some angels, now. It's not like we have to share a bed. Dean's in the hospital, so I just figured…save some money, and give me some peace of mind. Please."

Kat glowered at him. But he was trying.

"Fuck you, Sam," she grumbled, dropping her bag on the mattress. "You just love digging yourself into a deeper hole, don't you?"

"Well, you know what they say," he said with a wry smile. "Stick to what you know."

It wasn't as bad as she had imagined. Sam kept to himself and let her do her own thing. They took turns in the bathroom, changed into their pajamas, and put on their headphones. Sam was typing away on his computer, and Kat pulled out her journal again to jot down another entry. When she rolled over to go to sleep, Sam ceded control of the lamp and let her turn off all the lights.

He actually wasn't a bad roommate. Until she woke up to his snoring at 4 AM.

Kat did her best to drown it out with her iPod as she got dressed. Sam could be as overprotective as he liked. She was going on her run, with or without him. If she left while he was unconscious, he wouldn't be able to argue about it until she got back.

But Sam must have been more exhausted than she thought. He was still asleep when she got back from her run, and still asleep when she got out of the shower. She was tempted to check his pulse, just to make sure the demon powers hadn't killed him in his sleep. Thankfully, it didn't come to that. As soon as she grabbed her car keys, Sam shot up in his bed.

"Wha—What?" He looked around wildly, scanning the room, Kat, the clock. When he saw the time, his jaw dropped further. "Shit! How is it…?"

"Relax, Snore-zilla," Kat shot, grabbing her bag. "Just go back to sleep."

"No, no. The—The hospital is open soon, and Dean…"

"Isn't going anywhere. Seriously, if you've slept this long, you need it. You killed Alastair two days ago. I'm not surprised you're wiped."

Sam deflated, still looking nervously at the clock.

"You're sure?" he asked.

"Obviously," said Kat. "I'll keep an eye on Dean. You get some rest. Otherwise you won't be able to swoop in and save the day next time."

She pointed vigorously at his pillow and let herself out of the room.

It was a win-win situation. Sam got to sleep in, and Kat didn't need to deal with Sam and his over-accommodating apology. She'd be able to get some breakfast and get some work done in peace. There weren't likely to be any distractions in Dean's hospital room.

Castiel was long gone by the time she got there. At least, she thought he was. He could be lurking invisible in a corner for all she knew. If he was, he didn't announce himself. So she got herself settled in a chair next to Dean's cot. She ate her bagel while it was still fresh. She started a new playlist with some music she'd recently added to her iPod. And she set to work crushing her work emails.

Hours passed in peaceful silence. It promised to be a pretty good morning.

"Kat?"

She nearly dropped her computer in surprise. Dean was stirring on the bed, his eyes practically swollen shut but still fighting to open. She threw her laptop aside and rushed over.

"Dean? Hey, don't—don't move. Take it easy, you're…"

"Relax, Tink. Not my first time waking up in a hospital."

She wanted to smack him, but the tubes sticking out of his nose reminded her why it was a bad idea. She forced herself to fold her hands on the arm of the bed instead of reaching out. It was hard to swallow her concern.

"So…you look like shit," she said instead.

Dean's bruised lips cracked into a smile. "Yeah, well you should see the other guy."

"I did actually. Looks like you got a few good licks in."

She regretted it instantly. Bringing up torture in the first forty-five seconds of consciousness was probably the worst thing she could have done. But Dean took it in stride. He stiffened, swallowed thickly, and then buried that shit like a champ.

"So that was you," he said. "Thought I might've been hallucinating."

"I didn't get there until the end. I was a…I thought you might've been dead already."

"Huh. Is that why you were crying over me? Or did I imagine that too?"

Kat narrowed her eyes at him. "You looking for more broken bones?"

He grinned proudly in response. Kat's hands fidgeted on the railing again, fighting against instinct.

"I uh…I should—I should get a nurse," she said, shaking her head. "Tell someone you're awake."

"Ah, they know," Dean sighed, letting his eyes flutter shut again. "Woke up last night."

"They give you the good stuff?"

"Oh yeah. You know it." He smiled again. Kat noticed it was a bit weaker every time he attempted it. "Where's Sam?"

"I left him at the motel. He slept for like ten hours, and after the last two days…um…he was worried. So I told him to rest up."

Kat let the truth slip by her. She had no desire to tell Dean what had happened after he blacked out. That conversation could wait. Preferably until Sam was here, and she wasn't.

"Thanks for keeping an eye on him," Dean said gruffly.

"Of course. Least I could do after all the shit you guys have gone through for me."

She'd been hoping it would get her another chuckle, but she wasn't so lucky this time. Dean stared listlessly down at his hands. Somehow, even his fingers seemed to be bruised from the fight. His cuticles looked picked raw, and he still had blood under his nails.

She knew what was coming before he opened his mouth.

"I'm sorry."

"No, Dean…"

"I didn't want you to see me like that," he said, cutting her off. "You asked me not to, and I did it anyway. It was like…like I couldn't stay away from that part of myself."

"Dean," she sighed, "that is not what happened. You went in there trying to _help_ me. That went against every instinct that you had."

"You don't know that. What if instinct is what took over? You know, what if that's what I am now? That…hole in my chest?"

Kat chewed on her bottom lip.

"If that was true it wouldn't feel like a hole."

Dean didn't answer her. Kat wasn't sure if there was even anything to say. She'd known that sending Dean into the ring with Alastair would be taking a risk. Much as he tried not to show it, she knew that Dean liked beating himself up for his shortcomings. What she didn't know was how to read the damage. If Dean was apologizing, did that mean he was still in his right mind? That he hadn't pushed himself too far? Or was he so broken up that he'd forgotten how to be an emotionally-closed-off macho man?

He shook his head down at his blankets, still in his own world.

"And after all of it…I couldn't even get the job done. We still don't know why the demons want you."

"Of course we do." He looked up at her, and Kat replied with a shrug. "It's the same reason they wanted Anna. Dissect me, pull me apart, find what makes me special. And hopefully piss you off in the process."

"God, Kat, I'm…"

"You apologize again, I break another one of your ribs."

Dean raised his hands a fraction, surrendering without committing to moving his whole arm. Kat continued to frown at him, trying to find the right words to say.

"There was no winning here, Dean. Alastair had about a billion years of life experience on you. It was a losing battle from the start."

"I know, but…" His breath hitched, like he was afraid to continue. "But if I knew that going in, what does it say about me that I did it anyway?"

"That you're a masochistic, self-sacrificing dumbass. But we knew that already too."

Dean chuckled, finally meeting her gaze. Her heart clenched when he did. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes. They were bloodshot, watery, full of words and emotions that wouldn't show on his face. In an instant, she understood just how much Alastair had broken him. It was so much worse than she could have imagined.

Kat almost had to look away. It felt like she was trespassing.

Her hands grappled with the bed railing.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For trying."

She was surprised by the bolt of pain that shot across his face. He immediately dropped his gaze.

"Don't. If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't even be here."

"Hey, I know I said a lot of stuff back at the Roadhouse, but I'm the one who pulled over on the highway in Illinois. If I'd let…"

"No," he interrupted her. "The Apocalypse."

"Dean, Lilith is the one…"

"And Lilith wouldn't be able to do any of this if it wasn't for me."

Kat's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Dean's hands balled into fists. Kat watched him in concern, waiting. All he did was stare at the wall, his jaw clenched and the veins popping in his neck. Kat was too afraid to push him. Hell, she was too afraid to breathe for the most part. He was wound so tight, it looked like a light breeze would set him off. That, or send him crumbling into pieces.

Then all at once, the fight drained out of him. She watched as he sagged back into the pillows, and her own muscles tensed on instinct. It was more alarming than the bruises had been.

When he spoke, it was so quiet she could barely hear him.

"What I did in Hell…Alastair said that was the first seal."

All the air swept out of her lungs. She gaped at him, frozen, and said the only word that came to mind.

"No."

Dean gulped, staring at a fixed point on the opposite wall.

"This whole thing…Sam dying, me selling my soul…it's what they wanted all along. They set the trap and then sat back and watched us run. I did…exactly what they wanted me to do. Every time. And now the fucking world could end because of it."

Kat's mind was reeling. She felt like she was short-circuiting, trying to flick through every emotion, fact, and word she knew, trying to find the one that fit. The one that would fix everything. But she kept coming up short.

While her brain was preoccupied, her hand acted of its own accord. She let go of the railing, reaching out over the blankets to grab Dean's hand.

His eyes shot to her, and her brain struggled to catch up.

"Dean," she said softly, "if this is what the demons wanted, we never stood a chance. No one could've seen this coming. No one warned you, or told you what to do. You were just trying to survive. No one can blame you for that."

They stared at each other, knowing there wasn't anything else to say. Anything left over didn't need to be said out loud. It wasn't enough. It didn't fix a single thing. But it was all they had.

The moment was broken by Dean's stomach, which growled loudly under the blankets. Kat quickly retracted her hand, smothering her laugh. In an instant, Dean's mask was back up.

"Man, when was the last time I ate?"

"Probably the restaurant, about thirty-six hours ago." She chuckled at Dean's groan, and patted his hand again. "I'll go find a nurse. See if we can get you some food."

"Screw that. Call Sammy. Tell him to get me some real grub, like a burger!"

Kat waved him off and walked down the hallway. She walked, and she walked, and she walked. Past nurses, past doctors, vending machines and gift shops. She didn't stop until she was outside, standing alone on the sidewalk.

The cold wind whipped around the courtyard, throwing her hair around and making her eyes water. At least, she hoped it was the wind. It was one thing to own your emotions. But this…all of this was too much.

So maybe it was the wind that blew her to the side of the path. Maybe it was the wind that made her knees buckle as she collapsed onto a bench. And if all of that had been in the wind, she figured she could blame her tears on that too.


End file.
